jl.iu  :qo\ 


0t  flu  lUeologira/  * 


PRINCETON,  N.  J. 


% 


% 


Purchased  by  the  Hamill  Missionary  Fund. 


Division  DS413 

Section  ‘ Kid 


ENCHANTED  INDIA 


PMHMMMMHaM MMMr  . 


Digitized  by  the  Internet  Archive 
in  2016 


https://archive.org/details/enchantedindia00kara_0 


ENCHANTED 

INDIA 


BY 

✓ 


PRINCE  BOJIDAR  KARAGEORGEVITCH 


HARPER  & BROTHERS 
PUBLISHERS 

NEW  YORK  AND  LONDON 
1899 


***  “ Enchanted  India”  which  was 
written  in  French  by  Prince  Bojidar 
h'arageorgevitch , and  translated  by  Clara 
Bell , is  now  published  in  advance  of 
the  edition  in  the  original  language. 


TO  MY  FRIEND 


M.  H.  SPIELMANN 


CONTENTS 


At  Sea 

Bombay 

Ellora 

Nandgaun 

Baroda 

Ahmedabad 

Palitana 

Bhawnagar 

Hyderabad 

Trichinopoly 

Madura 

Tuticorin 

Colombo 

Kandy 

Madras 

Calcutta 

Darjeeling 

Benares 

Allahabad 

Lucknow 

Cawnpore 


1,  305 
3,  91,  302 
. 36 

. 46 

. 50 

. 55 

. 64 

. 84 

. 92 

. 107 
. 114 

. 123 

. 123 
. 125 

. 133 

. 139 
. 145 

. 154 

. 181 
. 185 
. 189 


CONTENTS 


PAGE 


viii 

Gwalior 

Agra 

Jeypoor 

Delhi  . 

Amritsur 

Lahore 

Rawal  Pindi 

Peshawur 

Murree 

Garhi  . 

Srinagar 

Rampoor 

Domel  . 

Derwal 

Kohat  . 

Bgnnoo 

Dehra  Doon 

Hardwar 


. 199 
. 204 
213 
216,  299 
. 233 
. 235 

. 238 
. 241 
. 253 
. 254 
. 256 
. 266 
. 269 
. 271 
273,  287 
. 274 
. 289 
. 296 


ENCHANTED 

INDIA 


AT  SEA 

[TIHE  air  is  heavy  with  indefinable  perfume.  We 
are  already  coasting  the  Indian  shore,  but  it 
remains  invisible,  and  gives  no  sign  but  by  these 
gusts  of  warmer  air  laden  with  that  inscrutable 
aroma  of  musk  and  pepper.  A lighthouse  to  port, 
which  we  have  for  some  time  taken  for  a star, 
vanishes  in  the  light  mist  that  hangs  over  the 
coast,  and  then  again  there  is  nothing  but  the 
immensity  of  waters  under  the  clear  night,  blue 
with  moonlight. 

All  the  day  long  a quantity  of  medusae  have 
surrounded  the  ship : white,  as  large  as  an  ostrich’s 
egg,  with  a pink  or  lilac  heart,  like  a flower ; others 
of  enormous  size,  of  a paler  blue  than  the  sea,  fringed 

1 


B 


ENCHANTED  INDIA 


with  intense  and  luminous  green — a splash  of  light 
on  the  dusk  of  the  deep.  Others,  again,  white, 
blossoming  with  every  shade  of  rose  and  violet. 
Then,  towards  evening,  myriads  of  very  small  ones, 
thickening  the  water,  give  it  a yellowish  tinge, 
clinging  to  the  ship’s  side,  rolling  in  the  furrow 
of  its  wake,  a compact  swarm,  for  hours  constantly 
renewed ; but  they  have  at  last  disappeared,  leaving 
the  sea  clear,  transparent,  twinkling  with  large  flecks 
of  phosphorescence  that  rise  slowly  from  the  depths, 
flash  on  the  surface,  and  die  out  at  once  under  the 
light  of  the  sky. 


Before  daybreak,  in  the  doubtful  light  of  waning 
night,  dim  masses  are  visible — grey  and  purple 
mountains — mountains  shaped  like  temples,  of 
which  two  indeed  seem  to  be  crowned  with  low 
squat  towers  as  if  unfinished. 

The  morning  mist  shrouds  everything;  the  scene 
insensibly  passes  through  a series  of  pale  tints,  to 
reappear  ere  long  in  the  clear  rosy  light,  which 
sheds  a powdering  of  glowing  gold  on  the  broad 
roadstead  of  Bombay. 

But  the  enchantment  of  this  rose-tinted  land, 
vibrating  in  the  sunshine,  is  evanescent.  The  city 

2 


BOMBAY 


comes  into  view  in  huge  white  masses — docks,  and 
factories  with  tall  chimneys;  and  coco-palms,  in 
long  lines  of  monotonous  growth,  overshadow  square 
houses  devoid  of  style. 

As  we  go  nearer,  gothic  towers  are  distinguishable 
among  the  buildings — faint  reminiscences  of  Chester, 
clumsily  revived  under  the  burning  light  of  white 
Asia. 


BOMBAY 

In  the  spacious  harbour,  where  a whole  fleet 
of  steamships  lies  at  anchor,  a swarm  of  decked 
boats  are  moving  about,  sober  in  colour,  with  the 
bows  raised  very  high  in  a long  peak,  and  immense 
narrow  sails  crossed  like  a pair  of  scissors,  and 
resembling  a seagull’s  wings. 

The  noise  in  the  dock  is  maddening.  The  Customs, 
the  police,  the  health-officers,  all  mob  the  voyager 
with  undreamed-of  formalities,  such  as  a paper  to 
be  signed  declaring  that  he  has  but  one  watch  and 
one  scarf-pin,  and  that  their  value  is  in  proportion 
to  the  wearer’s  fortune.  Then,  again,  the  dispersal 
of  the  luggage,  which  must  be  fished  out  at  another 
spot  amid  the  yelling  horde  of  coolies  who  rush  at 

3 


ENCHANTED  INDIA 

the  trunks  and  use  the  portmanteaus  as  missiles,  till 
at  last  we  are  in  the  street. 

Under  the  blinding  sunshine  reflected  from  the 
whitewashed  houses,  an  incredibly  mixed  crowd, 
squeezed  against  the  railings  of  the  custom-house 
wharf,  stands  staring  at  the  new  arrivals.  Natives, 
naked  but  for  a narrow  loin-cloth  rolled  about  their 
hips ; Parsees  in  long  white  tunics,  tight  white 
trousers,  and  on  their  heads  hideous  low  square 
caps  of  dark  wax-cloth,  pursuing  the  stranger  with 
offers  of  money-changing;  Hindoos,  clad  in  thin 
bright  silk,  and  rolls  of  liglit-hued  muslin  on  their 
head;  English  soldiers,  in  white  helmets,  two  of 
whom  stare  at  me  fixedly,  and  exclaim  that,  “ By 
J o’,  Eddy  has  missed  this  steamer  ! ” 

There  are  closed  carriages,  victorias,  vehicles  with 
a red  canopy  drawn  by  oxen,  the  shafts  set  at 
an  angle.  The  drivers  bawl,  shout  to  the  porters, 
fight  for  the  fare  with  their  whips,  while,  overhead, 
kites  and  hawks  wheel  incessantly,  uttering  a 
plaintive  cry. 

Along  the  roads  of  beaten  earth,  between  tall 
plastered  houses,  a tramway  runs.  In  the  shop- 
fronts the  motley  display  suggests  a curiosity  shop, 
and  the  goods  have  a look  of  antiquity  under  the 
thick  layer  of  dust  that  lies  on  everything.  It  is 

4 


BOMBAY 


only  in  the  heart  of  the  city,  in  the  “Fort,”  that 
the  shops  and  houses  have  a European  stamp. 

Opposite  the  hotel,  beyond  the  tennis  club,  is 
a sort  of  no-man’s-land,  where  carriages  are  housed 
under  tents.  Natives  dust  and  wash  and  wipe 
down  the  carriages  in  the  sun,  which  is  already 
very  hot;  and  the  work  done,  and  the  carriages 
under  cover,  out  come  swarms  of  little  darkies, 
like  ants,  who  squall  and  run  about  among  the 
tents  till  sunset. 

Further  off,  under  the  banyan  trees,  is  the  sepoys’ 
camp;  they  have  been  turned  out  of  barracks  on 
account  of  the  plague ; and  flashing  here  and  there 
among  the  dark,  heavy  verdure  there  lies  the  steely 
level  of  motionless  ocean. 

In  the  English  quarter  of  Bombay  the  houses  are 
European : Government  House,  the  post  office,  the 
municipal  buildings — perfect  palaces  surrounded 
by  gardens;  and  close  by,  straw  sheds  sheltering 
buffaloes,  or  tents  squatted  down  on  common  land ; 
and  beyond  the  paved  walks  are  beaten  earth  and 
huge  heaps  of  filth,  over  which  hover  the  birds 
of  prey  and  the  crows. 

A large  building  of  red  and  white  stone,  with 
spacious  arcades  and  a central  dome,  as  vast  as  a 
cathedral,  stands  at  the  angle  of  two  avenues — the 

5 


ENCHANTED  INDIA 


railway  terminus ; and  a great  market  of  iron  and 
glass — Crawford  Market.  Here  are  mountains  of 
fruit,  greenery,  and  vegetables  of  every  colour  and 
every  shade  of  lustre;  and  a flower  garden  divides 
the  various  market  sheds,  where  little  bronze  coolies, 
in  white,  scarcely  clad,  sell  oranges  and  limes. 

At  the  end  of  the  garden  are  the  bird  sellers, 
their  little  cages  packed  full  of  parrots,  minahs, 
and  bulbuls ; and  tiny  finches,  scarcely  larger  than 
butterflies,  hang  on  the  boughs  of  ebony  trees  and 
daturas  in  bloom. 


In  the  native  town  the  houses  are  lower  and 
closer  together,  without  gardens  between.  Down 
the  narrow  streets,  between  booths  and  shops,  with 
here  and  there  a white  mosque  where  gay-coloured 
figures  are  worshipping,  or  polychrome  temples 
where  bonzes  are  drumming  on  deafening  gongs, 
run  tramways,  teams  of  oxen,  whose  drivers  shriek 
and  shout,  and  hackney  cabs,  jingling  and  rattling. 
Among  the  vehicles  there  moves  a compact  crowd 
of  every  race  and  every  colour : tall  Afghans,  in 
dingy  white  garments,  leading  Persian  horses  by  the 
bridle  for  sale,  and  crying  out  the  price ; bustling 
Parsees ; naked  Somalis,  their  heads  shaven  and  their 

6 


BOMBAY 


oiled  black  skins  reeking  of  a sickening  mixture 
of  lotus  and  pepper;  fakirs,  with  wild,  unkempt 
hair,  their  faces  and  bodies  bedaubed  with  saffron 
and  the  thread  of  the  “second  birth”  across  their 
bare  breast;  Burmese,  with  yellow  skins  and  long 
eyes,  dressed  in  silks  of  the  brightest  pink ; Mon- 
golians, in  dark-hued  satin  tunics  embroidered  with 
showy  colours  and  gold  thread. 

There  are  women,  too,  in  the  throng  of  men,  but 
fewer  in  number.  Parsee  ladies,  draped  in  light 
sarees  of  pale-hued  muslin  bordered  with  black, 
which  shroud  them  entirely,  being  drawn  closely 
over  the  narrow  skirt,  crossed  several  times  over 
the  bosom,  and  thrown  over  the  right  shoulder  to 
cover  the  head  and  fall  lightly  on  the  left  shoulder. 
Hindoo  women,  scarcely  clothed  in  red  stuff,  faded 
in  places  to  a strong  pink ; a very  skimpy  bodice,  the 
chol,  embroidered  with  silk  and  spangles,  covers  the 
bust,  leaving  the  arms  and  bosom  free ; a piece  of 
thin  cotton  stuff,  drawn  round  the  legs  and  twisted 
about  the  waist,  covers  the  shoulders  and  head,  like 
a shawl.  On  their  wrists  and  ankles  are  silver 
bangles ; they  have  rings  on  their  fingers  and  toes, 
broad  necklaces  with  pendants,  earrings,  and  a sort 
of  stud  of  gold  or  copper,  with  coloured  stones, 
through  the  left  nostril.  They  go  barefoot,  pliant 

7 


ENCHANTED  INDIA 


forms  avoiding  the  jostling  of  the  crowd,  and 
carrying  on  their  head  a pile  of  copper  pots  one 
above  another,  shining  like  gold,  and  scarcely  held 
by  one  slender  arm  with  its  bangles  glittering  in 
the  sun.  The  tinkle  of  the  nanparas  on  their 
ankles  keeps  time  with  their  swinging  and  infinitely 
graceful  gait,  and  a scent  of  jasmine  and  sandal- 
wood is  wafted  from  their  light  raiment.  Moslem 
women,  wrapped  from  head  to  foot  in  sacks  of  thick 
white  calico,  with  a muslin  blind  over  their  eyes, 
toddle  awkwardly  one  behind  the  other,  generally 
two  or  three  together.  Native  children  beg,  pur- 
suing the  passenger  under  the  very  feet  of  the 
horses;  their  sharp  voices  louder  than  the  hubbub 
of  shouts,  bells,  and  gongs,  which  exhausts  and 
stultifies,  and  finally  intoxicates  the  brain. 

Everything  seems  fused  in  a haze  under  the  sun, 
as  it  grows  hotter  and  hotter,  and  in  that  quivering 
atmosphere  looks  like  a mass  in  which  red  and 
white  predominate,  with  the  persistent  harmony  of 
motion  of  the  swaying,  barefooted  crowd. 

The  air  is  redolent  of  musk,  sandal- wood,  jasmine, 
and  the  acrid  smell  of  the  hookahs  smoked  by  placid 
old  men  sitting  in  the  shadow  of  their  doors. 

The  ground  here  and  there  is  stained  with  large 
pink  patches  of  a disinfectant,  smelling  of  chlorine, 

8 


BOMBAY 


strewn  in  front  of  the  house  where  anyone  lies 
dead.  And  this  of  itself  is  enough  to  recall  to 
mind  the  spectre  of  the  plague  that  is  decimating 
Bombay ; in  this  excitement,  this  turmoil  of  colour 
and  noise,  we  had  forgotten  it. 

Shops  of  the  same  trade  are  found  in  rows; 
carpenters  joining  their  blocks,  and  workmen 
carving  ornaments  with  very  simple  tools — clumsy 
tools — which  they  use  with  little,  timid,  persistent 
taps.  Further  on,  coppersmiths  are  hammering 
the  little  pots  which  are  to  he  seen  in  everybody’s 
hands  ; under  the  shade  of  an  awning  stretched 
over  the  tiny  booth,  the  finished  vessels,  piled  up 
to  the  roof,  shed  a glory  over  the  half-naked  toilers 
who  bend  over  their  anvils,  perpetually  making  jars 
of  a traditional  pattern,  used  for  ablutions.  There 
are  two  men  at  work  in  each  shop,  three  at  most, 
and  sometimes  an  old  man  who  sits  smoking  with 
half-closed  eyes. 

In  a very  quiet  little  alley,  fragrant  of  sandal- 
wood, men  may  be  seen  in  open  stalls  printing 
patterns  with  primitive  wooden  stamps,  always  the 
same,  on  very  thin  silk,  which  shrinks  into  a twisted 
cord  reduced  to  nothing  when  it  is  stretched  out  to 
dry. 

Here  are  carvers  of  painted  wooden  toys — red 
9 


ENCHANTED  INDIA 


and  green  dolls,  wooden  balls,  nests  of  little  boxes 
in  varied  and  vivid  colours. 

Far  away,  at  the  end  of  the  bazaar,  in  a street 
where  no  one  passes,  are  the  shoemakers’  booths 
littered  with  leather  parings  ; old  cases  or  petro- 
leum tins  serve  as  seats.  Among  the  workmen 
swarm  children  in  rags,  pelting  each  other  with 
slippers. 

And,  quite  unexpectedly,  as  we  turned  a corner 
beyond  the  coppersmiths’  alley,  we  came  on  a row 
of  tea-shops,  displaying  huge  and  burly  china  jars. 
Chinamen,  in  black  or  blue,  sat  at  the  shop  doors 
in  wide,  stiff  armchairs,  their  fine,  plaited  pigtail 
hanging  over  the  back,  while  they  awaited  a 
customer  with  a good-humoured  expression  of  dull 
indifference. 


After  breakfast  a party  of  jugglers  appeared  in 
front  of  the  hotel ; they  performed  on  a little 
carpet  spread  under  the  shade  of  a banyan  tree. 
Acrobatic  tricks  first,  human  ladders,  feats  of 
strength ; then  nutmegs  were  made  to  vanish  and 
reappear;  and  finally  they  conjured  away  each  other 
in  turn,  in  little  square  hampers  that  they  stabbed 
with  knives  to  prove  that  there  was  nobody  inside ; 

10 


BOMBAY 


and  to  divert  the  spectators’  attention  at  critical 
moments  they  beat  a tom-tom  and  played  a shrill 
sort  of  bagpipe. 

The  jugglers  being  gone,  a boy,  to  gain  alms, 
opened  a round  basket  he  was  carrying,  and  up  rose 
a serpent,  its  hood  raised  in  anger,  and  hissing  with 
its  tongue  out. 

After  him  came  another  little  Hindoo,  dragging 
a mongoose,  very  like  a large  weasel  with  a fox’s 
tail.  He  took  a snake  out  of  a bag,  and  a battle 
began  between  the  two  brutes,  each  biting  with  all 
its  might ; the  sharp  teeth  of  the  mongoose  tried  to 
seize  the  snake’s  head,  and  the  reptile  curled  round 
the  mongoose’s  body  to  bite  under  the  fur.  At  last 
the  mongoose  crushed  the  serpent’s  head  with  a 
fierce  nip,  and  instantly  a hawk  flew  down  from 
a tree  and  snatched  away  the  victim. 


By  noon,  under  the  torrid  blaze  which  takes  the 
colour  out  of  everything,  exhaustion  overpowers 
the  city.  Vehicles  are  rare  ; a few  foot-passengers 
try  to  find  a narrow  line  of  shade  close  to  the 
houses,  and  silence  weighs  on  everything,  broken 
only  by  the  buzzing  of  flies,  the  strident  croak 
of  birds  of  prey. 


11 


ENCHANTED  INDIA 


Along  Back  Bay  lies  the  Malabar  Hill,  a promon- 
tory where  the  fashionable  world  resides  in  bunga- 
lows built  in  the  midst  of  gardens.  Palm  trees 
spread  their  crowns  above  the  road,  and  on  the 
rocks  which  overhang  the  path  ferns  of  many 
kinds  are  grown  by  constant  watering.  The  bun- 
galows, square  bouses  of  only  one  storey,  surrounded 
by  wide  verandahs,  and  covered  in  with  a high, 
pointed  roof,  which  allows  the  air  to  circulate  above 
the  ceilings,  stand  amid  clumps  of  bougainvillea 
and  flowering  jasmine,  and  the  columnar  trunks 
of  coco-palms,  date  trees,  baobabs  and  areca  palms, 
which  refresh  them  with  shade. 

The  gardens  are  overgrown  with  exuberant  tropi- 
cal vegetation : orchids,  daturas  hung  with  their 
scented  purple  bells,  gardenias  and  creepers ; and 
yet  what  the  brother  of  a London  friend,  on  whom 
I am  calling,  shows  me  with  the  greatest  pride,  are 
a few  precious  geraniums,  two  real  violets,  and 
a tiny  patch  of  thickly-grown  lawn  of  emerald  hue. 


Colaba  is  the  port;  the  docks,  with  tall  houses 
between  the  enormous  warehouses.  The  silence  is 
appalling ; windows,  doors — all  are  closed.  Only  a 
few  coolies  hurry  by  in  the  white  sunshine,  with 

12 


BOMBAY 


handkerchiefs  over  their  mouths  to  protect  them 
against  the  infection  in  these  streets,  whence  came 
the  plague  which  stole  at  first  through  the  suburbs, 
nearer  and  nearer  to  the  heart  of  the  city,  driving 
the  maddened  populace  before  it. 

One  morning  a quantity  of  dead  rats  were  found 
lying  on  the  ground ; next  some  pigeons  and  fowls. 
Then  a man  died  of  a strange  malady — an  unknown 
disease,  and  then  others,  before  it  was  known  that 
they  were  even  ill.  A little  fever,  a little  swelling 
under  the  arm,  or  in  the  throat,  or  on  the  groin — 
and  in  forty  - eight  hours  the  patient  was  dead. 
The  mysterious  disease  spread  and  increased ; every 
day  the  victims  were  more  and  more  numerous ; 
an  occult  and  treacherous  evil,  come  none  knew 
whence.  At  first  it  was  attributed  to  some  dates 
imported  from  Syria,  to  some  corn  brought  from 
up-country ; the  dates  were  destroyed,  the  corn 
thrown  into  the  sea,  but  the  scourge  went  on  and 
increased,  heralded  by  terror  and  woe. 


At  Mazagoon,  one  of  the  suburbs  of  Bombay, 
behold  a Parsee  wedding. 

The  bridegroom  sits  awaiting  his  guests,  in  his 
garden  all  decorated  with  arches  and  arbours,  and 

13 


ENCHANTED  INDIA 


starred  with  white  lanterns.  An  orchestra  is 
playing,  hidden  in  a shrubbery. 

Presently  all  the  company  is  assembled,  robed 
in  long  white  tunics.  The  bridegroom,  likewise 
dressed  in  white,  has  a chain  of  flowers  round  his 
neck ; orchids,  lilies,  and  jasmine,  falling  to  his 
waist.  In  one  hand  he  holds  a bouquet  of  white 
flowers,  in  the  other  a coco-nut.  A shawl,  neatly 
folded,  hangs  over  one  arm. 

Over  the  gate  and  the  door  of  the  house  light 
garlands,  made  of  single  flowers  threaded  like  beads, 
swing  in  the  breeze  and  scent  the  air. 

Servants  carrying  large  trays  offer  the  company 
certain  strange  little  green  parcels:  a betel -leaf 
screwed  into  a cone  and  fastened  with  a clove, 
containing  a mixture  of  spices  and  lime,  to  be 
chewed  after  dinner  to  digest  the  mass  of  food 
you  may  see  spread  out  in  the  tables  in  the  dining- 
room. 

Then  follow  more  trays  with  tufts  of  jasmine 
stuck  into  the  heart  of  a pink  rose ; and  as  the 
guest  takes  one  of  these  bouquets  the  servant 
sprinkles  first  the  flowers  and  then  him  with  rose- 
water. 

Shortly  before  sunset  the  dastour  arrives  — the 
high  priest — in  white,  with  a white  muslin  turban 

14 


BOMBAY 


instead  of  the  wax  - cloth  cap  worn  by  other 
Parsees. 

The  crimson  sky  seen  above  the  tall  coco-palms 
turns  to  pink,  to  pale,  vaporous  blue,  to  a warm 
grey  that  rapidly  dies  away,  and  almost  suddenly 
it  is  night. 

Then  an  elder  of  the  family  deliberately  lights 
the  first  fire  — a lamp  hanging  in  the  vestibule ; 
and  as  soon  as  they  see  the  flame  the  High  Dastour 
and  all  those  present  bow  in  adoration  with  clasped 
hands.  The  bridegroom  and  the  priest  go  into  the 
house  and  have  their  hands  and  faces  washed ; 
then,  preceded  by  the  band  and  followed  by  all  the 
guests,  they  proceed  to  the  home  of  the  bride. 

There,  again,  they  all  sit  down  in  the  garden. 
The  same  little  packets  of  betel,  only  wrapped  in 
gold  leaf,  are  offered  to  the  company,  and  bunches 
of  chrysanthemum  sprinkled  with  scent. 

Then,  two  and  two,  carrying  on  their  shoulders 
heavy  trays  piled  with  presents,  women  mount  the 
steps  of  the  house,  the  bridegroom  standing  at  the 
bottom.  The  bride’s  mother  comes  forth  to  meet 
them  in  a dress  of  pale  - coloured  China  crape 
covered  with  a fine  white  saree.  She  waves  her 
closed  hand  three  times  over  the  gifts,  and  then, 
opening  it,  throws  rice  on  the  ground.  This  action 

15 


ENCHANTED  INDIA 


she  repeats  with  sugar  and  sweetmeats,  and  finally 
with  a coco-nut.  And  each  time  she  empties 
her  hand  a naked  boy  appears  from  heaven  knows 
where,  gathers  up  what  she  flings  on  the  ground, 
and  vanishes  again,  lost  at  once  in  the  shadows 
of  the  garden. 

At  last  the  bridegroom  goes  up  the  steps.  The 
mother-in-law  repeats  the  circular  wave  of  welcome 
over  the  young  man’s  head  with  rice  and  sugar 
and  an  egg  and  a coco-nut ; then  she  takes  the 
garland,  already  somewhat  faded,  from  his  neck, 
and  replaces  it  by  another  twined  of  gold  thread 
and  jasmine  flowers,  with  roses  at  regular  intervals. 
She  also  changes  his  bouquet,  and  receives  the 
coco-nut  her  son-in-law  has  carried  in  his  hand. 

In  the  midst  of  a large  room  crowded  with 
women  in  light-hued  sarees,  the  bridegroom  takes 
his  seat  between  two  tables,  on  which  are  large 
trays  of  rice.  Facing  him  is  a chair,  and  one  is 
occupied  by  the  bride,  who  is  brought  in  by  a 
party  of  girls.  She  is  scarcely  fourteen,  all  in 
white ; on  her  head  is  a veil  of  invisibly  fine  muslin 
ten  folds  thick ; it  enfolds  her  in  innocence,  and 
is  crowned  with  sprays  of  myrtle  blossom. 

The  ceremony  now  begins.  The  dastour  chants 
his  prayers,  throwing  handfuls  of  rice  all  the  time 

16 


BOMBAY 


over  the  young  couple.  A sheet  is  held  up  between 
the  two,  and  a priest  twines  a thread  about  the  chair. 
At  the  seventh  turn  the  sheet  is  snatched  away,  and 
the  bride  and  bridegroom,  with  a burst  of  laughter, 
fling  a handful  of  rice  at  each  other. 

All  the  guests  press  forward,  ceasing  their  con- 
versation, which  has  sometimes  drowned  the  voice 
of  the  dastour,  to  ask  which  of  the  two  threw  the 
rice  first — a very  important  question  it  would  seem. 

The  two  chairs  are  now  placed  side  by  side,  and 
the  priest  goes  on  chanting  his  prayers  to  a slow 
measure,  in  a nasal  voice  that  is  soon  lost  again  in 
the  chatter  of  the  bystanders.  Bice  is  once  more 
shed  over  the  couple,  and  incense  is  burnt  in  a large 
bronze  vessel,  the  perfume  mingling  with  that  of  the 
jasmine  wreaths  on  the  walls. 

Then  the  procession,  with  music,  makes  its  way 
back  to  the  bridegroom’s  house.  On  the  threshold 
the  priest  says  one  more  short  prayer  over  the  bowed 
heads  of  the  newly-married  couple,  and  at  last  the 
whole  party  go  into  the  room,  where  the  guests  take 
their  places  at  the  long  tables. 

Under  each  plate,  a large  square  cut  out  of  a 
banana  leaf  serves  as  a finger-napkin.  Innumerable 
are  the  dishes  of  sweetmeats  made  with  ghee  (clari- 
fied butter),  the  scented  ices,  the  highly-coloured 

17 


c 


ENCHANTED  INDIA 


bonbons ; while  the  young  couple  walk  round  the 
rooms,  and  hang  garlands  of  flowers  about  the  necks 
of  the  feasters. 

Outside  the  night  is  moonless,  deep  blue.  Yenus 
seems  quite  close  to  us,  shining  with  intense  bright- 
ness, and  the  jasmines  scent  the  air,  softly  lighted 
by  the  lanterns  which  burn  out  one  by  one. 


In  the  evening,  at  the  railway  terminus,  there  was 
a crush  of  coolies  packed  close  up  to  the  ticket-office 
of  the  third-class,  and  holding  out  their  money. 
Never  tired  of  trying  to  push  to  the  front,  they  all 
shouted  at  once,  raising  their  hands  high  in  the  air 
and  holding  in  their  finger-tips  one  or  two  shining 
silver  rupees.  Those  who  at  last  succeeded  in  get- 
ting tickets  slipped  out  of  the  crowd,  and  sang 
and  danced;  others  who  had  found  it  absolutely 
impossible  to  get  anything  retired  into  corners,  and 
groaned  aloud. 

In  the  middle  of  the  station  groups  of  women 
and  children  squatted  on  the  flagstones,  their  little 
bundles  about  them  of  red  and  white  rags,  and 
copper  pots  looking  like  gold;  a huddled  heap  of 
misery,  in  this  enormous  hall  of  palatial  proportions, 
handsomely  decorated  with  sculptured  marble. 

18 


BOMBAY 


They  were  all  flying  from  the  plague,  which  was 
spreading,  and  emptying  the  bazaars  and  workshops. 
The  Exchange  being  closed,  trade  was  at  a standstill, 
and  the  poor  creatures  who  were  spared  by  the 
pestilence  were  in  danger  of  dying  of  hunger. 

When  the  gate  to  the  platform  was  opened  there 
was  a stampede,  a fearful  rush  to  the  train ; then 
the  cars,  once  filled,  were  immediately  shut  on  the 
noisy  glee  of  those  who  were  going. 

At  the  last  moment  some  porters,  preceded  by  two 
sowars  in  uniform  and  holding  pikes,  bore  a large 
palankin,  hermetically  closed,  to  the  door  of  a first- 
class  carriage,  and  softly  set  it  down.  The  carriage 
was  opened  for  a moment:  I could  see  within  a 
party  of  women-servants,  shrouded  in  white  muslin, 
who  were  preparing  a couch.  An  old  negress  handed 
out  to  the  porters  a large  sheet,  which  they  held 
over  the  palankin,  supporting  it  in  such  a way  as 
to  make  a covered  passage  screening  the  carriage 
door.  There  was  a little  bustle  under  the  sheet — 
the  end  was  drawn  in,  and  the  sheet  fell  over  the 
closed  door. 

The  last  train  gone,  all  round  the  station  there 
was  quite  a camp  of  luckless  natives  lying  on  the 
ground,  wrapped  in  white  cotton,  and  sleeping  under 
the  stars,  so  as  to  be  nearer  to-morrow  to  the  train 

19 


ENCHANTED  INDIA 


which,  perhaps,  might  carry  them  away  from  the 
plague-stricken  city. 


In  a long  narrow  bark,  with  a pointed  white  sail 
— a bunder-boat — we  crossed  the  roads  to  Elephanta, 
the  isle  of  sacred  temples.  Naked  men,  with  no 
garment  but  the  langouti,  or  loin-cloth,  navigated 
the  boat.  They  climbed  to  the  top  of  the  mast, 
clinging  to  the  shrouds  with  their  toes,  if  the  least 
end  of  rope  was  out  of  gear,  hauled  the  sail 
up  and  down  for  no  reason  at  all,  and  toiled 
ridiculously,  with  a vain  expenditure  of  cries  and 
action,  under  the  glaring  sky  that  poured  down  on 
us  like  hot  lead. 

After  an  hour’s  passage  we  reached  the  island, 
which  is  thickly  planted  with  fine  large  trees. 

A flight  of  regular  steps,  hewn  in  the  rock,  under 
the  shade  of  banyans  and  bamboos,  all  tangled  with 
flowering  creepers,  leads  straight  up  to  the  temple. 
It  is  a vast  hall,  dug  out  of  granite  and  supported 
by  massive  columns,  with  capitals  of  a half-flattened 
spheroidal  shape — columns  which,  seen  near,  seem 
far  too  slender  to  support  the  immense  mass  of  the 
mountain  that  rises  sheer  above  the  cave  under 
a curtain  of  hanging  creepers.  The  temple  opens 

20 


BOMBAY 


to  the  north,  and  a very  subdued  light — like  the 
light  from  a painted  window — filtering  through  the 
ficus  branches,  lends  solemnity  and  enhanced  beauty 
to  this  titanic  architecture. 

The  walls  are  covered  with  bas-reliefs  carved  in 
the  rock,  the  roof  adorned  with  architraves  of  stone 
in  infinite  repetition  of  the  same  designs.  The  stone 
is  grey,  varied  here  and  there  with  broad,  black 
stains,  and  in  other  spots  yellowish,  with  pale  gold 
lights.  Some  of  the  sculpture  remains  still  intact. 
The  marriage  of  Siva  and  Parvati ; the  bride  very 
timid,  very  fragile,  leaning  on  the  arm  of  the 
gigantic  god,  whose  great  height  is  crowned  with 
a monumental  tiara.  Trimurti,  a divinity  with 
three  faces,  calm,  smiling,  and  fierce — the  symbol 
of  Siva,  the  creator,  the  god  of  mercy,  and  of  wrath. 
In  a shadowed  corner  an  elephant’s  head  stands  out 
— Ganesa,  the  god  of  wisdom,  in  the  midst  of  a 
circle  of  graceful,  slender,  life-like  figures  of  women. 
Quite  at  the  end  of  the  hall,  two  caryatides,  tall  and 
elegant,  suggest  lilies  turned  to  women.  In  the 
inner  sanctuary,  a small  edifice,  with  thick  stone 
walls  pierced  with  tiny  windows  that  admit  but 
a dim  light,  stands  the  lingam,  a cylinder  of  stone 
crowned  with  scarlet  flowers  that  look  like  flames 
in  the  doubtful  light ; and  in  deeper  darkness, 

21 


ENCHANTED  INDIA 


under  a stone  canopy,  another  such  idol,  hardly 
■visible.  The  Brahman  priests  are  constantly  en- 
gaged in  daubing  all  the  statues  of  these  divinities 
with  fresh  crimson  paint,  and  the  votaries  of  Siva 
have  a spot  of  the  same  colour  in  the  middle  of 
the  forehead.  Two  lions,  rigid  in  a hieratic 
attitude,  keep  guard  over  the  entrance  to  a second 
temple,  a good  deal  smaller  and  open  to  the  air, 
beyond  a courtyard,  and  screened  with  an  awning 
of  creepers. 

In  the  atmosphere  floated  a pale  blue  smoke, 
rising  from  a heap  of  weeds  that  some  children 
were  burning,  a weird  sort  of  incense,  acrid  and 
aromatic,  fading  against  the  too-blue  sky. 

As  we  went  down  to  the  shore  a whole  swarm 
of  little  dark  boys  wanted  to  sell  scarabs,  rattans, 
birds’  nests  shaped  like  pockets,  and  dream-flowers, 
gathered  from  the  creepers  on  the  temples ; large 
almond-scented  lilies,  and  hanging  bunches  of  the 
ebony-tree  flowers,  so  fragile  in  texture  and  already 
faded  in  the  sun,  but  exhaling  till  evening  a faint 
perfume  of  verbena  and  lemon. 

As  we  returned  the  wind  had  fallen,  and  the 
men  rowed.  The  moon  rose  pale  gold,  and  in 
the  distance,  in  the  violet  haze,  the  lights  of 
Bombay  mingled  with  the  stars.  The  boatmen’s 

22 


BOMBAY 


chant  was  very  vague,  a rocking  measure  on  ascend- 
ing intervals. 


Afternoon,  in  the  bazaar,  in  the  warm  glow  of 
the  sinking  sun,  wonderfully  quiet.  No  sound 
but  that  of  some  workmen’s  tools;  no  passers-by, 
no  shouting  of  voices,  no  bargaining.  A few  poor 
people  stand  by  the  stalls  and  examine  the  goods, 
but  the  seller  does  not  seem  to  care.  Invisible 
guzlas  vibrate  in  the  air,  and  the  piping  invitation 
of  a moollah  falls  from  the  top  of  a minaret. 

Then,  suddenly,  there  was  a clatter  of  tom-toms, 
and  rattling  of  castanets,  a Hindoo  funeral  passing 
by.  The  dead  lay  stretched  on  a bier,  his  face 
painted  and  horrible,  a livid  grin  between  the 
dreadful  scarlet  cheeks,  covered  with  wreaths  of 
jasmine  and  roses.  A man  walking  before  the 
corpse  carried  a jar  of  burning  charcoal  to  light 
the  funeral  pile.  Friends  followed  the  bier,  each 
bringing  a log  of  wood,  to  add  to  the  pyre  as  a 
last  homage  to  the  dead. 

A Mohammedan  funeral  now.  The  body  was  in 
a coffin,  covered  with  red  stuff,  sparkling  with  gold 
thread.  The  bearers  and  mourners  chanted  an  almost 
cheerful  measure,  as  they  marched  very  slowly  to  the 

23 


ENCHANTED  INDIA 


burial-ground  by  the  seaside,  where  the  dead  rest 
under  spreading  banyans  and  flowering  jasmine. 

Then  a Parsee  woman  stopped  my  servant  to 
ask  him  if  I were  a doctor. 

“ A doctor  ? I cannot  say,”  replied  Abibulla, 
“ but  the  sahib  knows  many  things.”  The  woman’s 
eyes  entreated  me.  Would  I not  come  ? it  would 
comfort  the  sick  man,  and  help  him,  perhaps,  to 
die  easily  if  the  gods  would  not  spare  him. 

At  the  door  of  the  house  the  sick  man’s  wife 
was  washing  a white  robe,  in  which  he  would 
be  dressed  for  the  grave  on  the  morrow.  The 
nearest  relation  of  the  dying  must  always 
wash  his  garment,  and  the  woman,  knowing  that 
her  husband  had  the  plague  and  was  doomed,  as 
she  was  required  by  ritual  to  prepare  for  the  burial 
while  her  husband  was  yet  living,  wore  a look  of 
mute  and  tearless  resignation  that  terrified  me. 

The  plague -stricken  man  lay  on  a low  bed 
struggling  with  anguish ; large  drops  of  sweat 
stood  on  his  face,  his  throat  was  wrapped  in  wet 
bandages,  and  he  spoke  with  difficulty,  as  in  a 
dream. 

“ Pan£,  sahib  ! ” — “ Water,  sir  ! ” 

Then  he  closed  his  eyes  and  fell  asleep  at  once, 
and  so  would  he  sleep  till  the  end. 

24 


BOMBAY 


Out  of  doors,  meanwhile,  one  funeral  procession 
almost  trod  on  the  heels  of  the  last ; at  the  latest 
gleam  of  day,  and  out  towards  the  west,  above 
the  Field  of  Burning,  a broad  red  cloud  filled  all 
one  quarter  of  the  sky. 


In  the  heart  of  Girgaum,  one  of  the  suburbs 
of  Bombay,  at  the  end  of  a street,  under  a large 
areca  palm  an  old  man  was  selling  grain  and  rice 
in  open  baskets.  A whole  flight  of  bickering 
sparrows  settled  on  his  merchandise,  and  he  looked 
at  them  with  happy  good  humour  without  scaring 
them  away. 

In  the  town  a zebu  cow  was  trotting  along  with 
an  air  of  business.  To  avoid  a vehicle  she  jumped 
on  to  the  footpath  and  went  her  way  along  the 
flagstones,  and  every  Hindoo  that  she  passed  patted 
her  buttock  and  then  touched  his  forehead  with  the 
same  hand  with  great  reverence. 

Outside  Bombay,  at  the  end  of  an  avenue  of 
tamarind  trees,  between  hedges  starred  with  lilac 
and  pink,  we  came  to  Pinjerapoor,  the  hospital  for 
animals.  Here,  in  a sanded  garden  dotted  with 
shrubs  and  flowers,  stand  sheds  in  which  sick 
cows,  horses  and  buffaloes  are  treated  and  cared  for. 

25 


ENCHANTED  INDIA 


In  another  part,  in  a little  building  divided  into  com- 
partments by  wire  bars,  poor  crippled  dogs  whined 
to  me  as  I passed  to  take  them  away.  Hens  wan- 
dered about  on  wooden  legs  ; and  an  ancient  parrot, 
in  the  greatest  excitement,  yelled  with  all  his  might; 
he  was  undergoing  treatment  to  make  his  lost 
feathers  grow  again,  his  hideous  little  black  body 
being  quite  naked,  with  its  large  head  and  beak. 
In  an  open  box,  overhung  with  flowering  jasmine, 
an  Arab  horse  was  suspended  to  the  beams  of  the 
roof ; two  keepers  by  his  side  waved  long  white 
horsehair  fans  to  keep  away  the  flies.  A perfect 
crowd  of  servants  is  employed  in  the  care  of  the 
animals,  and  the  litter  is  sweet  and  clean. 


At  Byculla  in  the  evening  we  went  to  Grant 
Eoad,  the  haunt  of  the  street  beauties,  where  the 
gambling-houses  are.  At  the  open  windows  under 
the  lighted  lamps  were  coarsely-painted  women 
dressed  in  gaudy  finery.  In  the  entries  were  more 
of  such  women,  sitting  motionless  in  the  attitude 
of  idols ; some  of  them  real  marvels — thin,  slender 
bronze  limbs  scarcely  veiled  in  dark,  transparent 
gauze,  gold  rings  round  their  neck  and  arms,  and 
heavy  nanparas  on  their  ankles. 

26 


BOMBAY 


One  of  them  was  standing  against  a curtain  of 
black  satin  embroidered  with  gold;  muslin  that  might 
have  been  a spider’s  web  hardly  cast  a mist  over 
her  sheenless  skin,  pale,  almost  white  against  the 
glistening  satin  and  gold,  all  brightly  lighted  up. 
With  a large  hibiscus  flower  in  her  hand  she  stood 
in  a simple  attitude,  like  an  Egyptian  painting,  then 
moved  a little,  raising  or  lowering  an  arm, 
apparently  not  seeing  the  passers-by  who  gazed 
at  her — lost  in  a dream  that  brought  a strange 
green  gleam  to  her  dark  eyes. 

Japanese  girls,  too,  in  every  possible  hue,  with 
piles  of  tinsel  and  flowers  above  their  little  flat 
faces  all  covered  with  saffron  and  white  paint; 
little  fidgeting  parrakeets  flitting  from  window  to 
window,  and  calling  to  the  people  in  the  street  in 
shrill,  nasal  tones. 

In  booths  between  these  houses,  the  gamblers, 
standing  round  a board  with  numbered  holes,  were 
watching  the  ball  as  it  slowly  spun  round,  hit  the 
edge,  seemed  to  hesitate,  and  at  last  fell  into  one 
of  the  cups.  Four-anna  pieces,  ten-rupee  notes — 
anything  will  serve  as  a stake  for  the  Hindoo 
ruffian  in  a starched  shirt-front,  low  waistcoat  and 
white  tie,  above  the  dhouti  that  hangs  over  his 
bare  legs ; or  for  the  half-tipsy  soldier  and  sailor, 

27 


ENCHANTED  INDIA 


the  cautious  Parsee  who  rarely  puts  down  a stake, 
or  the  ragged  coolie  who  has  come  to  tempt  fortune 
with  his  last  silver  bit. 

All  alike  were  fevered  from  the  deafening  music 
of  harmoniums  and  tom-toms  performing  at  the 
back  of  each  gambling-booth — a din  that  drowned 
shouts  of  glee  and  quarrelling. 


Turning  out  of  this  high  street  blazing  with  lamps, 
were  dens  of  prostitution,  and  dark,  cut-throat  alleys. 

Then  a quiet  little  street.  Our  guide  paused  in 
front  of  a whitewashed  house.  An  old  woman 
came  out,  and  with  many  salaams  and  speeches  of 
welcome  led  us  into  a large,  low  room. 

Here,  one  by  one,  in  came  the  nautch  - girls, 
dancers.  Eobed  in  stiff  sarees,  their  legs  encum- 
bered with  very  full  trousers,  they  stood  extra- 
vagantly upright,  their  arms  away  from  their  sides 
and  their  hands  hanging  loosely.  At  the  first  sound 
of  the  tambourines,  beaten  by  men  who  squatted 
close  to  the  wall,  they  began  to  dance ; jumping 
forward  on  both  feet,  then  backward,  striking  their 
ankles  together  to  make  their  nanparas  ring,  very 
heavy  anklets  weighing  on  their  feet,  bare  with 
silver  toe-rings.  One  of  them  spun  on  and  on  for  a 

28 


BOMBAY 


long  time,  while  the  others  held  a high,  shrill  note 
— higher,  shriller  still;  then  suddenly  everything 
stopped,  the  music  first,  then  the  dancing — in  the 
air,  as  it  were  — and  the  nautch- girls,  huddled 
together  like  sheep  in  a corner  of  the  room,  tried  to 
move  us  with  the  only  three  English  words  they 
knew,  the  old  woman  repeating  them ; and  as  finally 
we  positively  would  not  understand,  the  jumping 
and  idiotic  spinning  and  shouts  began  again  in  the 
heated  air  of  the  room. 

“ Nautch-girls  for  tourists,  like  Europeans,”  said 
my  Indian  servant  Abibulla.  “ Can-can  dancing- 
girls,”  he  added,  with  an  air  of  triumph  at  having 
shown  me  a wonder. 

At  the  top  of  Malabar  Hill,  in  a garden  with 
freshly  raked  walks  and  clumps  of  flowers  edged 
with  pearl-shells,  stand  five  limewashed  towers, 
crowned  with  a living  battlement  of  vultures : the 
great  Dokma,  the  Towers  of  Silence,  where  the 
Parsees  are  laid  after  death,  “as  naked  as  when 
they  came  into  the  world  and  as  they  must  return 
to  nothingness,”  to  feed  the  birds  of  prey,  which  by 
the  end  of  a few  hours  leave  nothing  of  the  body 
but  the  bones,  to  bleach  in  the  sun  and  be  scorched 

29 


ENCHANTED  INDIA 


to  dust  that  is  soon  carried  down  to  the  sea  by  the 
first  rains  of  the  monsoon. 

One  of  these  towers,  smaller  than  the  others,  and 
standing  apart  at  the  end  of  the  garden,  is  used  for 
those  who  have  committed  suicide.  The  bearers  of 
the  dead  dwell  in  a large  yellow  house  roofed  with 
zinc.  There  they  live,  apart  from  the  world,  never 
going  down  to  Bombay  but  to  fetch  a corpse  and 
bring  it  up  to  the  vultures,  nor  daring  to  mingle 
with  the  living  till  after  nine  days  of  purification. 

In  another  building  is  the  hall  where  the  dastours 
say  the  last  prayers  over  the  dead  in  the  presence 
of  the  relations;  the  body  is  then  stripped  in  a 
consecrated  chamber  and  abandoned  to  the  mysteries 
of  the  tower. 

On  the  great  banyan  trees  in  the  garden,  and  on 
every  palm,  torpid  vultures  sit  in  the  sun,  awaiting 
the  meal  that  will  come  with  the  next  funeral 
procession. 

Far  away  a murmur  is  heard,  a long-drawn  chant, 
suddenly  arousing  the  birds ; they  flap  their  wings, 
stretch  themselves  clumsily,  and  then  fly  towards 
one  of  the  towers. 

We  could  see  the  procession  coming  straight  up 
a hollow  ravine  from  the  valley  to  the  Dokma,  a 
path  that  none  but  Parsees  are  allowed  to  tread; 

30 


BOMBAY 


eight  bearers  in  white,  the  bier  also  covered  with 
wThite,  and,  far  behind,  the  relations  and  friends  of 
the  dead,  all  robed  in  white,  two  and  two,  each  pair 
holding  between  them  a square  of  white  stuff  in 
sign  of  union.  They  came  very  slowly  up  the  steps 
of  the  steep  ascent  with  a measured  chant,  in 
muffled  tones,  on  long-drawn  vowels.  And  from 
the  surrounding  trees,  from  far  and  near,  with  a 
great  flutter  of  wings,  the  vultures  flew  to  meet  the 
corpse,  darkening  the  sky  for  a moment. 


In  the  evening,  as  I again  went  past  the  Towers 
of  Silence,  the  palm  trees  were  once  more  crowded 
with  sleeping  birds  gorged  with  all  the  food  sent 
them  by  the  plague.  On  the  other  side  of  Back 
Bay,  above  the  Field  of  Burning,  a thick  column  of 
smoke  rose  up,  red  in  the  last  beams  of  the  crimson 
sun. 

In  the  silence  of  a moonless  night  nine  o’clock 
struck  from  the  great  tower  of  the  Law  Courts — a 
pretty  set  of  chimes,  reminding  me  of  Bruges  or 
Antwerp ; and  when  the  peal  had  died  away  a bugle 
in  the  sepoys’  quarters  took  up  the  strain  of  the 
chimes,  only  infinitely  softer,  saddened  to  a minor 
key  and  to  a slower  measure ; while  in  the  distance 

31 


ENCHANTED  INDIA 


an  English  trumpet,  loud  and  clear,  sounded  the 
recall  in  counterpart. 


Outside  the  town  the  carriage  went  on  for  a long 
time  through  a poverty-stricken  quarter,  and  past 
plots  of  ground  dug  out  for  the  erection  of  factories. 
Fragile  flowers,  rose  and  lilac,  bloomed  in  the  shade 
of  banyans  and  palm  trees.  Hedges  of  jasmine  and 
bougainvillea,  alternating  with  rose  trees,  scented  the 
air.  Then  we  came  to  Parel,  a suburb  where,  in  a 
spacious  enclosure,  stands  the  hospital  for  infectious 
diseases.  It  is  a lofty  structure  of  iron,  the  roof 
and  walls  of  matting,  which  is  burnt  when  infected 
with  microbes,  and  which  allows  the  free  passage 
of  the  air.  In  spite  of  the  heat  outside  it  was 
almost  cool  in  these  shady  halls. 

All  the  sick  were  sudras,  Hindoos  of  the  lowest 
caste.  All  the  rest,  Brahmins,  Kshatriyas,  Vaisiyas, 
would  rather  die  at  home,  uncared  for,  than  endure 
the  promiscuous  mixture  of  caste  at  the  hospital, 
and  contact  with  their  inferiors.  Even  the  sudras 
are  but  few.  There  is  an  all-pervading  dread  of 
a hospital,  fostered  by  Indian  bone  - setters  and 
sorcerers,  stronger  even  than  the  fear  of  the  pesti- 
lence ; the  people  hide  themselves  to  die,  like 

32 


BOMBAY 


wounded  animals,  and  their  relations  will  not  speak 
of  an  illness  for  fear  of  seeing  anybody  belonging 
to  them  taken  to  the  hospital. 

All  the  sufferers  lay  on  thin  mattresses  spread 
on  low  camp  beds;  they  were  all  quiet,  torpid 
in  the  sleep  of  fever.  The  doctor  showed  them  to 
me,  one  after  another;  there  was  nothing  dis- 
tressing to  be  seen  in  their  naked  bodies  lying 
under  a sheet.  Some,  indeed,  had  dressings  under 
the  arm,  or  on  the  groin.  One,  who  had  just  been 
brought  in,  bad  a large  swelling  above  the  hip,  a 
gland  which  was  lanced  to  inject  serum. 

This,  then,  is  the  malady  of  the  appalling  name — 
the  Plague — hardened  glands  in  the  throat  or  under 
the  arm;  the  disease  that  gives  its  victim  fever, 
sends  him  to  sleep,  exhausts,  and  infallibly  kills 
him. 

In  the  ward  we  had  just  passed  through  there 
were  none  but  convalescents  or  favourable  cases. 
At  the  further  end  of  the  room  a boy,  fearfully 
emaciated,  so  thin  that  his  body,  lying  in  the  hollow 
of  the  mattress,  was  hardly  visible  under  the  cover- 
ing, was  asleep  as  we  approached.  He  had  come 
from  one  of  the  famine  districts,  and  in  escaping 
from  one  scourge  had  come  to  where  the  other 
had  clutched  him.  The  doctor  touched  him  on  the 
D 33 


ENCHANTED  INDIA 


shoulder,  and  he  opened  his  great  splendid  eyes. 
The  awakening  brought  him  gladness,  or  perhaps 
it  was  the  end  of  his  dream,  for  he  had  the  happy 
look  of  a contented  child,  shook  his  shaven  head 
waggishly,  and  the  single  corkscrew  lock  at  the 
top,  and  was  asleep  again  instantly. 

In  the  further  room  were  four  sufferers  past  all 
hope:  one  in  the  anguish  of  delirium  that  made 
him  cry  out  the  same  words  again  and  again,  in 
a hoarse  voice  that  was  growing  fainter.  He  was 
held  by  two  attendants.  Another  lay  with  chatter- 
ing teeth ; a third  was  struggling  violently,  hidden 
under  his  coverlet ; the  fourth  seemed  unconscious, 
apathetic. 

Not  far  from  the  great  hospital,  in  huts  of  bamboo 
and  matting,  some  Hindoos  were  isolated,  who  re- 
fused to  be  attended  by  any  but  native  doctors,  or 
to  take  anything  but  simples.  An  old  man  lay 
there  who  had  a sort  of  stiff  white  paste  applied 
to  the  swellings  under  his  arms.  He,  too,  was 
delirious,  and  watched  us  go  by  with  a vague, 
stupefied  glare — eyes  that  were  already  dead. 

In  another  hut  was  a woman,  brought  hither 
yesterday  with  her  husband,  who  had  died  that 
morning.  She  had  an  exquisite,  long,  pale  face 
and  blue  - black  hair.  On  her  arms  were  many 

34 


BOMBAY 


bangles,  and  gold  earrings  glittered  in  her  ears. 
For  a moment  she  opened  her  large  gazelle-like 
eyes,  and  then  with  a very  sad  little  sigh  turned 
to  the  wall,  making  her  trinkets  rattle.  She  was 
still  dressed  in  her  blue  choli.  A striped  coverlet 
had  been  thrown  over  her ; by  her  bed  she  had  a 
whole  set  of  burnished  copper  pans  and  canisters. 
Charmingly  pretty,  and  not  yet  exhausted  by  the 
disease,  which  only  declared  itself  yesterday,  she 
was  sleeping  quietly,  more  like  a being  in  a story- 
book than  a plague-stricken  creature,  who  must 
infallibly  die  on  the  morrow  under  the  incapable 
treatment  of  the  Hindoo  “bone-setter.” 

And  then  we  came  away  from  this  hospital, 
where  no  sister  of  charity,  no  woman  even,  had 
brought  some  little  consolation  or  the  kindliness 
of  a smile  to  these  dying  creatures,  whose  wander- 
ing or  frantic  black  eyes  haunted  me. 


35 


ENCHANTED  INDIA 


ELLORA 

THE  SACRED  HILL 

At  sunrise  we  reached  Xandgaun,  whence  I went 
on  towards  Ellora  in  a tonga,  the  Indian  post-chaise, 
with  two  wheels  and  a wide  awning  so  low  and  so 
far  forward  that  the  traveller  must  stoop  to  look  out 
at  the  landscape.  A rosy  haze  still  hung  over  the 
country,  rent  in  places  and  revealing  transparent 
blue  hills  beyond  the  fields  of  crude  green  barley 
and  rice.  The  road  was  hedged  with  mimosa, 
cassia,  and  a flowering  thorny  shrub,  looking  like 
a sort  of  honeysuckle  with  yellow  blossoms,  and 
smelling  strongly  of  ginger. 

We  met  a strange  caravan ; a small  party  of  men 
surrounding  more  than  a hundred  women  wrapped 
in  dark  robes,  and  bearing  on  their  veiled  heads 
heavy  bales  sewn  up  in  matting,  and  large  copper 
pots.  A little  blind  boy  led  the  way,  singing  a 
monotonous  chant  of  three  high  notes.  He  came 
up  to  my  tonga,  and  to  thank  me  for  the  small  coin 
I gave  him  he  said,  “Salaam,  Sahib,”  and  then 
repeated  the  same  words  again  and  again  to  his 

36 


ELLORA 


tune,  dancing  a little  step  of  his  own  invention 
till  the  whole  caravan  was  hidden  from  me  in  a 
cloud  of  dust. 

In  a copse,  women,  surrounded  by  naked  children, 
were  breaking  stones,  which  men  carried  to  the 
road.  The  women  screamed,  hitting  the  hard 
pebbles  with  a too  small  pick,  the  children  fought, 
the  men  squabbled  and  scolded,  and  amid  all  this 
hubbub  three  Parsees,  sitting  at  a table  under  the 
shade  of  a tamarind  tree,  were  adding  up  lines  of 
figures  on  papers  fluttering  in  the  wind.  There  was 
not  a dwelling  in  sight,  no  sign  of  an  encampment, 
nothing  hut  these  labouring  folk  and  the  bureau- 
cracy out  in  the  open  air,  under  the  beating  sun. 

Next  came  a long  file  of  carts,  conveying  cases  of 
goods  “ made  in  Manchester,”  or  loaded,  in  unstable 
equilibrium,  with  dry  yellow  fodder  like  couch  grass, 
eaten  by  the  horses  here ; and  they  struggled  along 
the  road  which,  crossing  the  limitless  plain,  appeared 
to  lead  nowhere. 

When  we  stopped  to  change  horses,  two  or  three 
mud-huts  under  the  shade  of  a few  palm  trees 
would  emit  an  escort  of  little  native  boys,  who 
followed  the  fresh  team,  staring  at  the  carriage 
and  the  “ Inglis  Sahib  ” with  a gaze  of  rapturous 
stupefaction. 


37 


ENCHANTED  INDIA 


Flocks  of  almost  tame  partridges  and  wood- 
pigeons  occupying  the  road  did  not  fly  till  they 
were  almost  under  the  horses’  feet,  and  all  the  way 
as  we  went,  we  saw,  scampering  from  tree  to  tree, 
the  scared  little  squirrels,  grey  with  black  stripes 
and  straight-up  bushy  tails. 

At  the  frontier  of  the  Nizam’s  territory,  a man-at- 
arms,  draped  in  white,  and  mounted  on  a horse  that 
looked  like  silver  in  the  sunshine,  sat  with  a lance 
in  rest  against  his  stirrup.  He  gazed  passively  at 
the  distance,  not  appearing  to  see  us,  not  even 
bowing. 

Towards  evening  Ellora  came  in  sight,  the  sacred 
hill  crowned  with  temples,  in  a blaze  of  glory  at 
first  from  the  crimson  sunset,  and  then  vaguely 
blue,  wiped  out,  vanishing  in  the  opalescent  mist. 

At  Eoza,  the  plateau  above  the  Hindoo  sanctuaries, 
above  a dozen  of  Moslem  mausoleums  are  to  be 
seen  under  the  spreading  banyans  that  shelter  them 
beneath  their  shade,  and  sometimes  hide  them  com- 
pletely ; the  white  objects  are  in  a whimsical  style 
of  architecture,  hewn  into  strange  shapes,  which  in 
the  doubtful  starlight  might  be  taken  for  ruins. 

One  of  these  mausoleums  served  us  for  a bun- 
galow. The  distance  was  visible  from  the  window 
openings,  which  were  fringed  with  cuscus  blinds 

38 


ELLORA 


that  would  be  pulled  down  at  night : the  spreading 
dark  plain,  broken  by  gleaming  pools,  and  dotted 
with  the  lamps  in  the  temples  to  Vishnu,  of  which 
the  cones  were  visible  in  silhouette,  cutting  the 
clear  horizon. 

The  almost  imperceptible  hum  of  a bagpipe  came 
up  from  below ; in  a white  mosque  of  open 
colonnades  enclosing  a paved  court,  and  in  front 
of  the  little  lamps  that  burned  above  the  holy  of 
holies  sheltering  the  Koran,  figures  in  light  gar- 
ments were  prostrate  in  prayer ; their  murmurs 
came  up  to  us  in  sighs,  mingling  with  the  slow  and 
tender  notes  of  the  music. 

Rising  from  the  highest  point  of  the  hill  the  huge 
tomb  of  Aurungzeeb  the  Great — more  huge  in  the 
darkness  — stood  out  clearly,  a black  mass,  its 
bulbous  dome  against  the  sky.  Flocks  of  goats 
and  sheep  came  clambering  along  the  ridge  to 
shelter  for  the  night  in  the  recesses  of  its  walls. 
Then,  one  by  one,  the  lights  died  out.  Infinite 
calm  brooded  over  the  scene;  a very  subtle  fragrance, 
as  of  rose  and  verbena,  seemed  to  rise  from  the 
ground  and  scent  the  still  air ; and  over  the  motion- 
less earth  swept  enormous  black  bats  in  silent  flight, 
with  slow,  regularly-beating  wings. 


39 


ENCHANTED  INDIA 


At  the  first  ray  of  sunrise  I went  down  to  the 
temples,  hewn  out  of  the  side  of  the  hill  and  extend- 
ing for  above  a mile  and  a quarter.  Gigantic  stairs 
are  cut  in  the  rock,  and  lead  to  caves  enshrining 
immense  altars,  on  which  Buddha  or  other  idols  of 
enormous  size  are  enthroned.  Hall  after  hall  is 
upheld  by  carved  pillars.  Bas-reliefs  on  the  walls 
represent  the  beatitudes  of  Krishna  surrounded  by 
women,  or  the  vengeance  of  Yishnu  the  terrible,  or 
the  marriage  of  Siva  and  Parvati ; while  on  the  flat 
roof,  on  the  panels  and  architraves — all  part  of  the 
solid  rock — there  is  an  endless  procession  of  Krishnas 
and  Yishnus,  on  a rather  smaller  scale,  producing 
utter  weariness  of  their  unvaried  attitudes  and 
beatific  or  infuriated  grimacing. 

One  temple  to  Buddha  only,  on  an  elongated  plan, 
ends  in  a vault  forming  a bulb-shaped  cupola  sup- 
ported on  massive  columns,  quite  Byzantine  in 
character  and  wholly  unexpected.  The  dim  light, 
coming  in  only  through  a low  door  and  two  small 
windows  filled  in  with  pierced  carving,  enhances 
the  impression  of  being  in  some  ancient  European 
fane,  and  the  Buddha  on  the  high  altar  has  a look 
of  suffering  and  emaciation  that  suggests  a work  of 
the  fourteenth  century. 

More  temples,  each  more  stupendous  than  the 
40 


ELLORA 


last,  and  more  halls  hewn  in  the  rifts  of  the  hills, 
and  over  them  monks’  cells  perched  on  little  columns, 
which  at  such  a height  look  no  thicker  than  threads. 

And  there,  under  the  open  sky,  stands  the  crown- 
ing marvel  of  Ellora,  the  temple  or  Kailas,  enclosed 
within  a wall  thirty  metres  high,  pierced  with  panels, 
balconies,  and  covered  arcades,  and  resting  on  lions 
and  elephants  of  titanic  proportions.  This  temple 
is  hewn  out  of  a single  rock,  isolated  from  the  hill, 
and  is  divided  into  halls  ornamented  in  high  relief. 
Covered  verandahs  run  all  round  the  irregular  mass 
in  two  storeys,  reminding  us,  in  their  elaborate 
design,  of  the  Chinese  balls  of  carved  ivory  with 
other  balls  inside  them.  Nothing  has  been  added  or 
built  on.  The  complicated  architecture — all  in  one 
piece,  without  cement  or  the  smallest  applied  orna- 
ment— makes  one  dizzy  at  the  thought  of  such  a 
miracle  of  perseverance  and  patience. 

The  external  decoration  is  broken  by  broad  flat 
panels,  incised  in  places  so  delicately  that  the 
patterns  look  like  faded  fresco,  scarcely  showing 
against  the  gold-coloured  ground  of  yellow  stone. 
In  front  of  the  Kailas  stand  two  tall  obelisks,  carved 
from  top  to  bottom  with  an  extraordinary  feeling  for 
proportion  which  makes  them  seem  taller  still,  and 
two  gigantic  elephants,  guardians  of  the  sanctuary, 

41 


ENCHANTED  INDIA 


heavy,  massive  images  of  stone,  worm-eaten  by  time 
into  tiny  holes  and  a myriad  wrinkles,  producing 
a perfect  appearance  of  the  coarse  skin  of  the 
living  beast. 

In  the  twilight  of  the  great  galleries  the  gods  are 
assembled  in  groups,  standing  or  sitting,  rigid  or 
contorted  into  epileptic  attitudes,  and  thin  bodies 
of  human  aspect  end  in  legs  or  arms  resembling 
serpents  or  huge  fins,  rather  than  natural  limbs : 
Kali,  the  eight-armed  goddess,  leaping  in  the  midst 
of  daggers,  performing  a straddling  dance  while  she 
holds  up  a tiny  corpse  on  the  point  of  the  short 
sword  she  brandishes ; impassible  Sivas  wearing  a 
tall  mitre ; Krishna  playing  the  flute  to  the  thou- 
sand virgins  who  are  in  love  with  him,  and  who  fade 
into  perspective  on  the  panel.  And  every  divinity 
has  eyes  of  jade,  or  of  white  plaster,  hideously  visible 
against  the  pale  grey  stone  softly  polished  by  time. 

Amid  hanging  swathes  of  creepers,  in  a fold  of  the 
hill  stands  another  temple,  of  red  stone,  very  gloomy; 
and,  in  its  depths,  a rigid  white  Buddha,  with 
purple  shadows  over  his  eyes  of  glittering  crystal. 
And  so  on  to  temples  innumerable,  so  much  alike 
that,  seeing  each  for  the  first  time,  I fancied  that  I 
was  retracing  my  steps;  and  endless  little  shrine- 
like recesses,  sheltering  each  its  Buddha,  make  blots 

42 


ELLORA 


of  shadow  on  the  bright  ochre-coloured  stone  of  the 
cliffs.  For  centuries,  in  the  rainy  season,  thousands 
of  pilgrims  have  come,  year  after  year,  to  take  up 
their  abode  in  these  cells,  spending  the  cold  weather 
in  prayer  and  then  going  off  to  beg  their  living  and 
coming  back  for  the  next  wet  season. 

The  Viharas,  monasteries  of  cells  hollowed  out  in 
the  hillside,  extend  for  more  than  half  a mile  ; briars 
and  creepers  screen  the  entrances  leading  to  these 
little  retreats,  a tangle  of  flowers  and  carvings. 

As  the  sun  sank,  a magical  light  of  lilac  fading 
into  pink  fell  on  the  mountain  temples,  on  the 
rock  partly  blackened  by  ages  or  scorched  to  pale 
yellow,  almost  white ; it  shed  an  amethystine  glow, 
transfiguring  the  carved  stone  to  lacework  with 
light  showing  through.  A wheeling  flock  of  noisy 
parrakeets  filled  the  air  with  short,  unmeaning 
cries,  intolerable  in  this  rose  and  lavender  still- 
ness, where  no  sound  could  be  endurable  but 
the  notes  of  an  organ.  A ray  of  fiery  gold 
shot  straight  into  the  red  temple,  falling  on  the 
marble  Buddha.  For  a moment  the  idol  seemed 
to  be  on  fire,  surrounded  by  a halo  of  burning 
copper. 

Under  the  cool  shade  of  eveniug,  the  softening 
43 


ENCHANTED  INDIA 


touch  of  twilight,  all  this  sculptured  magnificence 
assumes  an  air  of  supreme  grandeur,  and  calls  up 
a world  of  legends  and  beliefs  till  the  temples  seem 
to  recede,  fading  into  the  vapour  of  the  blue  night. 

While  I spent  the  hot  hours  of  the  day  in  the 
bungalow,  a flock  of  birds  came  in  through  the 
open  doors,  and  quietly  picked  up  the  crumbs  on 
the  floor.  They  were  followed  by  grey  squirrels, 
which  at  first  crouched  in  the  corners,  but 
presently,  growing  bolder,  ended  by  climbing  on 
to  the  table,  with  peering  eyes,  in  hope  of  nuts 
or  bread-crusts. 

We  were  off  by  break  of  day.  Among  hanging 
creepers,  shrubs,  and  trees,  temples,  gilded  by  the 
rising  sun,  gleamed  dimly  through  the  rosy  mist, 
and  faded  gradually  behind  a veil  of  white  dust 
raised  by  the  flocks  coming  down  from  Eoza,  or 
melted  into  the  dazzling  blaze  of  light  over  the 
distance. 

At  Jane  the  pagodas  are  of  red  stone.  The 
largest,  conical  in  shape,  covers  with  its  ponderous 
roof,  overloaded  with  sculptured  figures  of  gods 
and  animals,  a very  small  passage,  at  the  end  of 
which  two  lights  burning  hardly  reveal  a white 
idol  standing  amid  a perfect  carpet  of  flowers. 
Eound  the  sacred  tank  that  lies  at  the  base  of  the 

44 


JANE 


temple,  full  of  stagnant  greenish-white  water,  are 
flights  of  steps  in  purple-hued  stone ; at  the  angles, 
twelve  little  conical  kiosks,  also  of  red  stone  and 
highly  decorated,  shelter  twelve  similar  idols,  but 
black.  And  between  the  temples,  among  the  few 
huts  that  compose  the  village  of  Jane,  stand 
Moslem  mausoleums  and  tombs.  Verses  from  the 
Koran  are  carved  on  the  stones,  now  scarceyl 
visible  amid  the  spreading  briars  and  garlands  of 
creepers  hanging  from  the  tall  trees  that  are 
pushing  their  roots  between  the  flagstones  that 
cover  the  dead. 

Before  us  the  road  lay  pink  in  colour,  with 
purple  lines  where  the  pebbles  v/ere  as  yet  un- 
crushed ; it  was  hedged  with  blossoming  thorn- 
bushes,  and  among  the  yellow  and  violet  flowers 
parrots  were  flitting,  and  screaming  minahs,  large 
black  birds  with  russet-brown  wings,  gleaming  in 
the  sun  like  burnished  metal. 

The  post-chaise  was  a tonga,  escorted  by  a 
mounted  sowar,  armed  with  a naked  sword.  He 
rode  ahead  at  a rattling  trot,  but  the  clatter  was 
drowned  by  the  shouts  of  the  driver  and  of  the 
sais,  who  scrambled  up  on  the  steps  and  urged 
the  steeds  on  with  excited  flogging. 

45 


ENCHANTED  INDIA 


At  a stopping-place  a flock  of  sheep  huddled 
together  in  terror,  hens  scuttered  about  clucking 
anxiously,  the  stable  dogs  crouched  and  slunk ; 
high  overhead  a large  eagle  was  slowly  wheeling 
in  the  air. 

Kound  a village  well,  enclosed  by  walls  with 
heavy  doors  that  are  always  shut  at  night,  a perfect 
flower-bed  of  young  women  had  gathered,  slender 
figures  wrapped  in  robes  of  bright,  light  colours, 
drawing  water  in  copper  jars.  The  sunbeams, 
dropping  between  the  leaves  of  a baobab  tree  that 
spread  its  immense  expanse  of  boughs  over  the 
well,  sparkled  on  their  trinkets  and  the  copper 
pots,  dappling  the  gaudy  hues  of  their  raiment 
with  flickering  gold. 


NANDGAUN 

Is  a long  row  of  bungalows  in  their  own  gardens, 
on  each  side  of  an  avenue  of  thick  trees  that 
meet  above  the  road.  We  crossed  the  bed  of  a 
dry  torrent  and  came  to  the  native  village,  a 
labyrinth  of  clay  huts  and  narrow  alleys  through 
which  goats  and  cows  wandered,  finding  their  way 
home  to  their  own  stables.  On  a raised  terrace 

46 


NANDGAUN 


three  Parsees,  bowing  to  the  sun  with  clasped 
hands,  prostrated  themselves  in  adoration,  and 
watched  the  crimson  globe  descend  wrapped  in 
golden  haze ; and  as  soon  as  the  disc  had 
vanished,  leaving  a line  of  fiery  light  in  the  sky, 
all  three  rose,  touched  each  other’s  hands,  passed 
their  fingers  lightly  over  their  faces,  and  resumed 
their  conversation. 

In  every  house  a tiny  lamp  allowed  us  to  see 
the  women,  squatting  while  they  pounded  millet, 
or  cooked  in  copper  pots.  Then  night  suddenly 
fell,  and  I could  no  longer  find  my  way  about 
the  dark  alleys,  stumbling  as  I went  over  cows 
lying  across  the  path,  till  I suddenly  found  my- 
self opposite  a very  tall  pagoda,  three  storeys 
high.  On  the  threshold  the  bonzes  were  banging 
with  all  their  might  on  gongs  and  drums,  alter- 
nately with  bells.  And  on  the  opposite  side  of 
the  street,  in  a sort  of  shed  enclosed  on  three 
sides,  but  wide  open  to  the  passers-by,  people  in 
gay  robes  were  prostrate  before  two  shapeless 
idols,  Krishna  and  Vishnu,  painted  bright  red, 
twinkling  with  ornaments  of  tinsel  and  lead-paper, 
and  crudely  lighted  up  by  lamps  with  reflectors. 
And  then  at  once  I was  between  low  houses  again, 
and  going  down  tortuous  streets  to  the  river-bed, 

47 


ENCHANTED  INDIA 


whither  I was  guided  by  the  sound  of  castanets 
and  tambourines. 

At  the  further  end  of  the  last  turning  I saw  a 
fire  like  blazing  gold,  the  soaring  flames  flying  up 
to  an  enormous  banyan  tree,  turning  its  leaves  to 
living  fire.  All  round  the  pile  on  which  the  dead 
was  being  burned  was  a crowd  drumming  on  copper 
pots  and  tom-toms. 

Very  late  in  the  evening  came  the  sound  of  dar- 
boukhas  once  more.  A throng  of  people,  lighted  up 
by  a red  glow,  came  along,  escorting  a car  drawn 
by  oxen.  At  each  of  the  four  corners  were  children 
carrying  torches,  and  in  the  middle  of  the  car  a tall 
pole  was  fixed.  On  this,  little  Hindoo  boys  were 
performing  the  most  extraordinary  acrobatic  tricks, 
climbing  it  with  the  very  tips  of  their  toes  and 
fingers,  sliding  down  again  head  foremost,  and  stop- 
ping within  an  inch  of  the  floor.  Their  bronze 
skins,  in  contrast  to  the  white  loin-cloth  that  cut 
them  across  the  middle,  and  their  fine  muscular 
limbs,  made  them  look  like  antique  figures.  The 
performance  went  on  to  the  noise  of  drums  and 
singing,  and  was  in  honour  of  the  seventieth  birthday 
of  a Mohammedan  witch  who  dwelt  in  the  village. 
The  car  presently  moved  off,  and,  after  two  or  three 

48 


NANDGAUN 


stoppages,  reached  the  old  woman’s  door.  The 
toothless  hag,  her  face  carved  into  black  furrows, 
under  a towzle  of  white  hair  emerging  from  a 
ragged  kerchief,  with  a stupid  stare  lighted  up  by 
a gleam  of  wickedness  when  she  fixed  an  eye,  sat 
on  the  ground  in  her  hovel  surrounded  by  an 
unspeakable  heap  of  rags  and  leavings.  The  crowd 
squeezed  in  and  gathered  round  her;  but  she  sat 
perfectly  unmoved,  and  the  little  acrobats,  perform- 
ing in  front  of  her  door,  did  not  win  a glance  from 
her.  And  then,  the  noise  and  glare  annoying  her 
probably,  she  turned  with  her  face  to  the  wall  and 
remained  so.  She  never  quitted  her  lair ; all  she 
needed  was  brought  to  her  by  the  villagers,  who 
dreaded  the  spells  she  could  cast.  Her  reputation 
for  wisdom  and  magic  had  spread  far  and  wide. 
The  Nizam’s  cousin,  and  prime  minister  of  the 
dominion,  never  fails  to  pay  her  a visit  when  pass- 
ing through  Nandgaun,  and  other  even  greater 
personages,  spoken  of  only  with  bated  breath, 
have  been  known  to  consult  her. 


E 


49 


ENCHANTED  INDIA 


BARODA 

An  old-world  Indian  city  with  nothing  of  modern 
tlimsiness  and  tinsel.  The  arcades  and  balconies  of 
the  houses  in  the  bazaar  are  carved  out  of  solid 
wood,  polished  by  ages  to  tones  of  burnished  steel 
and  warm  gold.  Copper  nails  in  the  doors  shine 
in  the  sun.  Along  the  quiet  streets,  where  nothing 
passes  by  but,  now  and  then,  a slow-paced  camel, 
Hindoos  make  their  way,  draped  in  pale  pink,  or 
in  white  scarely  tinged  with  green  or  orange  colour ; 
little  naked  children,  with  necklaces,  bangles  and 
belts  of  silver,  looking  like  ribbons  on  their  bronze 
skin.  In  front  of  the  shops  is  a brilliant  harmony 
of  copper,  sheeny  fruits,  and  large  pale  green  pots. 
A glad  atmosphere  of  colour  surrounds  the  smiling 
people  and  the  houses  with  their  old  scorched 
stones. 

The  coachman  we  engaged  at  the  station  was  a 
giant,  with  an  olive  skin  and  a huge,  pale  pink  tur- 
ban. He  was  clad  in  stuffs  so  thin  that  on  his  box, 
against  the  light,  we  could  see  the  shape  of  his 
body  through  the  thickness  of  five  or  six  tunics 
that  he  wore  one  over  another. 


50 


BARODA 


After  passing  through  the  town,  all  flowery 
with  green  gardens,  at  the  end  of  a long,  white, 
dusty  road,  where  legions  of  beggars  followed 
me,  calling  me  “ Papa  ” and  “ Bab,”  that  is  to  say 
father  and  mother,  I arrived  at  the  residence  of  the 
Gaekwar,  the  Rajah  of  Baroda.  At  the  gate  we 
met  the  palace  sentries  released  from  duty.  Eight 
men  in  long  blue  pugarees  and  an  uniform  of 
yellow  khakee  (a  cotton  stuff),  like  that  of  the 
sepoys,  with  their  guns  on  their  shoulders,  looked 
as  if  they  were  taking  a walk,  marching  in  very 
fantastic  step.  One  of  them  had  a bird  hopping 
about  in  a little  round  cage  that  hung  from  the 
stock  of  his  gun.  Three  camels  brought  up  the 
rear,  loaded  with  bedding  in  blue  cotton  bundles. 

In  the  heart  of  an  extensive  park,  where  wide 
lawns  are  planted  with  gigantic  baobabs  and  clumps 
of  bamboo  and  tamarind,  stands  an  important- 
looking building,  hideously  modern  in  a mixture  of 
heterogeneous  styles  and  materials,  of  a crude  yellow 
colour,  and  much  too  new.  There  is  no  attempt  at 
unity  of  effect.  A central  dome  crowns  the  edifice 
and  a square  tower  rises  by  the  side  of  it.  Some 
portions,  like  pavilions,  low  and  small,  carry  orna- 
ments disproportioned  to  their  size;  while  others, 
containing  vast  halls,  have  minute  windows  pierced 

51 


ENCHANTED  INDIA 


in  their  walls,  hardly  larger  than  loopholes,  but 
framed  in  elaborate  sculpture  and  lost  in  the  great 
mass  of  stone.  Arcades  of  light  and  slender  columns, 
connected  by  lace-like  pierced  work  of  alarming 
fragility,  enclose  little  courts  full  of  tree-ferns  and 
waving  palms  spreading  over  large  pools  of  water. 
The  walls  are  covered  with  niches,  balconies, 
pilasters,  and  balustrades  carved  in  the  Indian 
style,  the  same  subjects  constantly  repeated. 

Inside,  after  going  through  a long  array  of  rooms 
filled  with  sham  European  furniture  — handsome 
chairs  and  sofas  covered  with  plush,  Brussels  carpets 
with  red  and  yellow  flowers  on  a green  ground — 
we  came  to  the  throne-room,  an  enormous,  prepos- 
terous hall,  which,  with  its  rows  of  cane  chairs  and 
its  machine-made  Gothic  woodwork,  was  very  like 
the  waiting-room  or  dining-room  of  an  American 
hotel. 

The  Rajah  being  absent  we  were  allowed  to  see 
everything.  On  the  upper  floor  is  the  Ranee’s 
dressing-room.  All  round  the  large  room  were 
glass  wardrobes,  in  which  could  be  seen  bodices 
in  the  latest  Paris  fashion,  and  ugly  enough ; and 
then  a perfect  rainbow  of  tender  opaline  hues: 
light  silks  as  fine  as  cobwebs,  shawls  of  every 
dye  in  Cashmere  wool  with  woven  patterns,  and 

52 


BARODA 


gauze  of  that  delicate  rose-colour  and  of  the  yellow 
that  looks  like  gold  with  the  light  shining  through, 
which  are  only  to  be  seen  in  India — royal  fabrics, 
dream-colours,  carefully  laid  up  in  sandal-wood  and 
stored  behind  glass  and  thick  curtains,  which  were 
dropped  over  them  as  soon  as  we  had  looked.  And 
crowding  every  table  and  bracket  were  the  most 
childish  things — screens,  cups  and  boxes  in  imita- 
tion bronze,  set  with  false  stones — the  playthings 
of  a little  barbarian.  A coloured  photograph  stood 
on  the  toilet-table  between  brushes  and  pomatum- 
pots  ; it  represented  the  mistress  of  this  abode,  a 
slender  doll  without  brains,  her  eyes  fixed  on 
vacancy. 

Then  her  bedroom : no  bed,  only  a vast  mattress 
rolled  up  against  the  wall,  and  spread  over  the 
floor  every  night — it  must  cover  the  whole  room. 

At  the  end  of  the  passage  was  a sort  of  den, 
where,  through  the  open  door,  I caught  sight  of 
a marvellous  Indian  hanging  of  faded  hues  on  a 
pale  ground,  hidden  in  places  by  stains ; the  noble 
pattern  represented  a peacock  spreading  his  tail 
between  two  cypresses. 

In  front  of  the  palace,  beds  filled  with  common 
plants  familiar  in  every  European  garden  fill  the 
place  of  honour;  they  are  very  rare,  no  doubt,  in 

53 


ENCHANTED  INDIA 


these  latitudes,  and  surprising  amid  the  gorgeous 
hedges  of  wild  bougainvillea  that  enclose  the  park. 

In  the  train  again,  en  route  for  Ahmedabad.  As 
we  crossed  the  fertile  plain  of  Gujerat  the  first 
monkeys  were  to  be  seen,  in  families,  in  tribes, 
perched  on  tall  pine  trees,  chasing  each  other,  or 
swinging  on  the  wires  that  rail  in  the  road,  and 
solemnly  watching  the  train  go  by.  Peacocks 
marched  about  with  measured  step,  and  spread  their 
tails  in  the  tall  banyan  trees  tangled  with  flowering 
creepers.  Shyer  than  these,  the  grey  secretary  birds, 
with  a red  roll  above  their  beak,  seemed  waiting  to 
fly  as  we  approached.  On  the  margin  of  the  lakes 
and  streams  thousands  of  white  cranes  stood  fishing, 
perched  on  one  leg ; and  in  every  patch  of  tobacco, 
or  dahl,  or  cotton,  was  a hut  perched  on  four  piles, 
its  boarded  walls  and  leaf-thatch  giving  shelter  to 
a naked  native,  watching  to  scare  buffaloes,  birds, 
monkeys,  and  thieves  from  his  crop. 


54 


AHMED  ABAC 


AHMEDABAD 

In  the  middle  of  the  town,  which  consists  en- 
tirely of  small  houses  carved  from  top  to  bottom, 
are  two  massive  towers,  joined  by  the  remains  of 
the  thick  wall  that  formerly  enclosed  the  immensity 
of  the  sultan’s  palace  and  its  outbuildings.  The 
towers  now  serve  as  prisons ; the  stone  lattice  which 
screened  the  private  rooms  has  been  replaced  by 
iron  bars,  the  last  traces  of  ornamentation  covered 
up  with  fresh  plaster.  Behind  the  wall  the  ancient 
garden,  kept  green  of  old  by  legions  of  gardeners, 
is  a mere  desert  of  dust;  a mausoleum  in  the  middle, 
transformed  into  a court  of  justice,  displays  all  the 
perfection  of  Indian  art  in  two  pointed  windows 
carved  and  pierced  in  imitation  of  twining  and 
interlaced  branches ; marvels  of  delicacy  and  grace 
left  intact  through  centuries  of  vandalism. 

Beyond  these  ruins,  at  the  end  of  a long  avenue 
bordered  with  tamarind  trees,  beyond  an  artificial 
lake,  is  the  tomb  of  Shah  Alam.  A wide  marble 
court;  to  the  right  a mosque  with  three  ranks  of 
columns ; above,  a massive  roof  crowned  with  a 

55 


ENCHANTED  INDIA 


bulbous  dome,  Hanked  by  fragile  minarets.  The 
fountain  for  ablutions  in  the  midst  of  the  court  is 
surmounted  by  a marble  slab  supported  on  slender 
columns.  To  the  left,  under  the  shade  of  a large 
tree,  is  the  mausoleum  of  marble,  yellow  with  age, 
looking  like  amber,  the  panels  pierced  with  patterns 
of  freer  design  than  goldsmith’s  work. 

Inside,  a subdued  light,  rosy  and  golden,  comes 
in  through  the  myriad  interstices,  casting  a glow  of 
colour  on  the  pierced  marble  screens  which  enclose 
the  tomb  of  Shah  Alam,  Sultan  of  Gujerat.  The 
tomb  itself,  hung  with  a red  cloth  under  a canopy 
on  posts  inlaid  with  mother-of-pearl,  is  dimly  seen 
in  the  twilight,  scarcely  touched  here  and  there  with 
the  pearly  gleam  and  lights  reflected  from  ostrich 
eggs  and  glass  balls — toys  dedicated  by  the  faithful 
to  the  hero  who  lies  there  in  his  last  sleep.  Yet 
further  away,  under  the  trees,  is  another  tomb, 
almost  the  same,  but  less  ornamented,  where  the 
sultan’s  wives  repose. 

Finally,  in  a third  mosque,  lies  Shah  Adam’s 
brother.  On  the  stone  that  covers  him  a sheet  of 
lead  bears  the  print  of  two  gigantic  feet,  intended 
to  perpetuate  to  all  ages  the  remembrance  of  his 
enormous  height. 


56 


AHMED ABAD 


In  the  town  is  the  tomb  of  the  Iianee  Sipri : 
walls  of  lace,  balconies  of  brocade  carved  in  stone. 
Opposite  this  mausoleum  are  an  open  mosque  and 
two  minarets  as  slim  as  sapling  pines,  wrought  with 
arabesques  as  fine  as  carved  ivory.  There  are  lamps 
carved  in  relief  on  the  walls,  each  hung  by  chains 
under-cut  in  stone  with  Chinese  elaboration ; and 
this  lamp  is  everywhere  repeated — on  the  mosque, 
on  the  tomb,  and  on  the  base  of  the  minarets.  The 
building,  which  has  the  faintly  russet  tone  of  old 
parchment,  when  seen  in  the  glow  of  sunset  takes 
a hue  of  ruby  gold  that  is  almost  diaphanous,  as 
filmy  as  embroidered  gauze. 

Wherever  the  alleys  cross  in  the  bazaar,  open 
cages  are  placed  on  pillars  of  carved  marble  or 
wood,  and  in  these,  charitable  hands  place  grain  for 
the  birds ; thus  every  evening,  round  these  shelters 
there  is  a perpetual  flutter  of  pigeons,  minahs,  and 
sparrows,  pushing  for  places,  and  finally  packed 
closely  together,  while  the  little  lanterns  flash  out 
on  all  sides,  giving  a magical  aspect  to  the  shop- 
fronts, turning  copper  to  gold,  fruit  to  flowers,  and 
falling  like  a caress  on  the  wayfarers  in  thin 
pale-hued  robes. 

Back  to  the  station,  where  we  lived  in  our 
carriage,  far  more  comfortable  than  a hotel  bed- 

57 


ENCHANTED  INDIA 


room.  T.,  my  travelling  companion  in  Gujerat, 
received  a visit  from  a gentleman  badly  dressed  in 
the  European  fashion,  and  followed  by  black  ser- 
vants outrageously  bedizened.  When  this  personage 
departed  in  his  landau,  rather  shabby  but  drawn  by 
magnificent  horses,  T.  was  obliged  to  tell  me  he  was 
a rajah — the  Rajah  of  Surat — quite  a genuine  rajah, 
and  even  very  rich,  which  is  somewhat  rare  in  these 
days  among  Indian  princes. 

Some  prisoners  were  brought  to  the  train;  a 
single  sepoy  led  them  by  a chain.  Two  carried 
enormous  bales,  and  the  third  a heavy  case.  They 
packed  themselves  into  a compartment  that  was 
almost  full  already,  and  one  of  a couple  that  were 
chained  together  by  the  wrists  put  the  chain  round 
his  neck ; then,  when  he  had  scraped  acquaintance 
with  the  other  travellers,  he  amused  himself  by 
tormenting  the  hawkers  of  drink  and  pastry,  bar- 
gaining with  them  for  a long  time  and  buying 
nothing,  quite  delighted  when  he  had  put  them 
in  a rage  with  him. 

In  the  third-class  carriages,  where  the  compart- 
ments are  divided  by  wooden  lattice,  among  the 
bundles,  the  copper  jars,  and  the  trunks  painted  in 
the  gaudiest  colours,  sit  women  in  showy  saree  and 
decked  in  all  their  jewels ; children  in  little  silk 

58 


AHMED  ABAD 


coats  braided  with  tinsel,  and  open  over  their  little 
bare  bodies ; men  with  no  garment  whatever  but  a 
loin-cloth  or  dhouti.  There  is  endless  chatter,  a 
perpetual  bickering  for  places,  the  bewilderment 
of  those  who  lose  themselves,  shouts  from  one  end 
of  the  station  to  the  other,  and  in  the  foreground 
of  the  hubbub  the  incessant  cries  of  the  water  and 
sweetmeat  sellers. 

When  the  express  had  arrived  that  morning  from 
Bombay,  eight  bodies  were  found  of  victims  to  the 
plague  who  had  died  on  the  way.  They  were  laid 
on  the  platform  and  covered  with  a white  sheet ; 
and  in  the  station  there  was  a perfect  panic,  a surge 
of  terror  which  spread  to  the  town,  and  broke  up 
the  market.  The  shops  were  all  shut,  and  the 
people  rushed  to  their  knees  before  the  idols  in 
the  temples. 

A naked  fakir,  his  brown  skin  plastered  with 
flour,  and  his  long  black  hair  all  matted,  bent  over 
the  bodies  muttering  holy  words ; then  flourishing 
two  yellow  rags  that  he  took  out  of  a wallet  hang- 
ing from  his  shoulder,  he  exorcised  the  station, 
driving  away  the  spectre  of  the  pestilence;  going 
very  fast,  running  along  the  line  by  which  the 
evil  had  come,  and  vanishing  where  the  rails  ended 
behind  the  trees. 


59 


ENCHANTED  INDIA 


Music  attracted  us  to  where  the  cross-roads  met, 
darboukhas  struck  with  rapid  fingers  and  a bagpipe 
droning  out  a lively  tune.  The  musicians  sat  among 
stones  and  bricks,  tapping  in  quick  time  on  their 
ass’s -skin  drums,  beating  a measure  for  some 
masons  to  work  to.  Women  carried  the  bricks 
men  spread  the  mortar;  they  all  sang  and  worked 
with  almost  dancing  movements  in  time  with  the 
music,  as  if  they  were  at  play. 

A Jain  temple.  A confusion  of  ornament,  carved 
pillars,  capitals  far  too  heavy,  with  a medley  of 
animals,  gods  and  flowers,  under  a roof  all  graven 
and  embossed.  In  the  sanctuary,  where  the  walls 
are  riddled  with  carving,  is  an  enormous  Buddha  of 
black  marble  decked  out  with  emeralds,  gold  beads 
and  rare  pearls,  hanging  in  necklaces  down  to  his 
waist.  A large  diamond  blazes  in  his  forehead 
above  crystal  eyes,  terrifically  bright.  Every  even- 
ing all  this  jewellery — the  gift  of  Hati  Singh,  a 
wealthy  Jain  merchant  who  built  the  temple — is 
packed  away  into  a strong-box,  which  we  were 
shown  in  the  cellar. 

All  round  the  sanctuary,  in  niches  under  a square 
cloister,  are  three  hundred  and  fifty  alabaster 
Buddhas,  all  alike,  with  the  same  jewel  in  their  fore- 
head, and  on  their  shoulders  and  round  their  bodies 

60 


AHMED ABAD 


gold  bands  set  with  imitation  gems  and  cut  glass. 
An  old  woman,  who  had  come  thither  at  daybreak, 
had  prayed  to  each  of  these  Buddhas;  to  each  she 
had  offered  up  the  same  brief  petition,  sbe  had 
struck  the  three  bells  on  her  way,  and  she  was 
now  in  the  sanctuary,  calling  out  a prayer  while 
beating  a gong  that  hangs  from  the  arch.  Mean- 
while other  worshippers  were  murmuring  their 
invocations  prostrate  before  the  jewelled  Buddha. 

Out  in  the  street  a woman,  bare-backed,  was 
submitting  to  be  brushed  down  the  spine  by  a 
neighbour  with  a brush  of  cuscus ; she  scorned  to 
answer  me  when  I asked  whether  she  felt  better, 
but  shutting  her  eyes  desired  the  operator  to  go 
on  more  slowly. 

In  an  ancient  mosque,  somewhat  dilapidated,  was 
an  infant-school.  Little  heaps  of  stuff,  pink  and 
yellow  and  white,  and  above  them  emaciated  little 
faces  with  large  dark  eyes  that  had  greenish-blue 
lights  in  them,  all  moving  and  rocking  continually, 
and  spelling  aloud  out  of  open  books  set  up  on 
wooden  folding  desks.  The  master  in  his  pulpit 
listened  stolidly  with  half-shut  eyes,  and  detected 
the  mistakes  in  all  this  twitter  of  little  voices. 

Not  far  from  Ahmedabad,  in  a sandy  desert 
61 


ENCHANTED  INDIA 


where,  nevertheless,  a few  proliferous  baobabs 
grow,  there  is  a subterranean  pagoda  drowned  in 
stagnant  water  that  has  filled  three  out  of  the 
six  floors.  These  are  now  sacred  baths,  in  which, 
when  I went  there,  Hindoos  were  performing  their 
pious  ablutions.  Sculptured  arcades,  upheld  by 
fragile  columns,  skirt  the  pools ; the  stones  are 
green  under  the  water,  and  undistinguishable  from 
the  architecture  reflected  in  the  motionless  surface 
that  looks  blue  under  the  shadow  of  the  great 
banyan  trees  meeting  in  an  arch  over  the  temple. 
A sickly  scent  of  lotus  and  sandal-w’ood  fills  the 
moist  air,  and  from  afar,  faint  and  shrill,  the 
cries  of  monkeys  and  minah-birds  die  away  into 
silence  over  the  calm  pool. 

A little  way  off,  in  the  burning  sandy  plain,  is 
a pagoda  sacred  to  the  pigeons.  Lying  as  close 
as  tiles,  in  the  sun,  they  hide  the  roof  under 
their  snowy  plumage.  Eound  pots  are  hung  all 
about  the  building,  swaying  in  the  wind,  for  the 
birds  to  nest  in,  a red  decoration  against  the  russet 
stone ; each  one  contains  an  amorous  and  cooing 
pair. 

The  Jumna  Musjid,  in  the  middle  of  the  bazaar,  is 
a reminder  of  the  mosque  at  Cordova.  A thousand 

62 


AHMED ABAD 


unmatched  columns  stand  in  utter  confusion  of 
irregular  lines,  producing  a distressing  sensation  of 
an  unfinished  structure  ready  to  fall  into  ruins. 
Every  style  is  here,  and  materials  of  every  de- 
scription, brought  hither — as  we  are  told  by  the 
inscription  engraved  over  one  of  the  lofty  pointed 
doorways — from  the  temples  of  the  unbelievers 
destroyed  by  Shah  Mahmoud  Bogarat,  the  taker 
of  cities,  that  he  might,  out  of  their  remains,  raise 
this  mosque  to  the  glory  of  Allah.  In  the  centre 
of  the  arcade  a large  flagstone  covers  the  Jain 
idol,  which  was  formerly  worshipped  here ; and  my 
servant  Abibulla,  as  a good  Moslem,  stamped  his 
foot  on  the  stone  under  which  lies  the  “ contempt- 
ible image.”  Some  workmen  were  carving  a column; 
they  had  climbed  up  and  squatted  balanced  ; they 
held  their  tools  with  their  toes,  just  chipping  at  the 
marble  in  a way  that  seemed  to  make  no  impres- 
sion, chattering  all  the  time  in  short  words  that 
seemed  all  of  vowels. 

Behind  this  mosque,  by  narrow  alleys  hung  with 
airy  green  silk  that  had  just  been  dyed  and  spread 
to  dry  in  the  sun,  we  made  our  way  to  the  mauso- 
leum of  Badorgi  Shah : a cloister,  an  arcade  of 
octagonal  columns  carved  with  flowers,  and  in  the 
court,  the  tombs  of  white  stone,  covered  with  in- 

63 


EXCHAXTED  IXDIA 


seriptions,  that  look  like  arabesques.  There  are 
some  children’s  tombs,  too,  quite  small,  in  finer 
and  even  whiter  stone,  and  two  tiny  stones  under 
which  lie  Badorgi’s  parrot  and  cat. 


PALITANA 

The  carriage  of  the  Bajah  of  Palitana  awaited 
us  this  morning  at  Songad.  As  an  escort  two 
sowars  in  long  blue  cloaks  and  red  turbans,  their 
guns  slung  behind  them,  galloped  by  our  vehicle. 
On  each  side  of  the  road  lay  fields  of  scorched 
grass,  quite  burnt  and  very  fine,  glistening  like 
silk,  reflecting  the  sun  as  far  as  we  could  see. 

In  the  middle  of  a large  garden  outside  the  town 
was  the  visitors'  bungalow,  the  divan,  where  the 
prince’s  prime  minister  received  us,  and  made  us 
welcome  on  behalf  of  his  master.  Hardly  were  we 
seated  when  in  came  the  Bajah,  driving  two  wonder- 
ful horses  drawing  a phaeton.  Dressed  in  a long 
black  coat  over  very  narrow  trousers  of  white 
muslin,  Gohel  Sheri  Man  Sinjhi  wore  a turban, 
slightly  tilted  from  the  left  side,  and  made  of 
hundreds  of  fine  pale  green  cords  rolled  round 

64 


PALITANA 


and  round.  The  Prince  of  Morvi,  and  another 
of  the  Rajah’s  cousins,  followed  in  perfectly 
appointed  carriages,  drawn  by  thoroughbreds. 
Last  of  all,  carried  by  an  attendant  from  her 
landau  to  the  large  reception-room  where  we  sat 
gravely  in  a circle,  came  a little  princess  of  seven 
years  old,  the  Rajah’s  daughter.  Enormous  black 
eyes  with  dark  blue  lights,  her  tawny  skin  a foil 
to  her  jewels,  and  the  gold  and  silver  embroidery 
of  a little  violet  velvet  coat  open  over  a long  tunic 
of  green  silk,  trousers  of  pink  satin,  and  yellow 
leather  slippers.  A plum-coloured  cap,  worked 
with  gold  trefoils,  was  set  very  straight  on  her 
black  hair ; she  wore,  in  her  ears,  slender  rings  of 
gold  filigree,  and  had  a nose-stud  of  a fine  pearl 
set  in  gold.  She  stood  between  her  father’s  knees, 
squeezing  close  up  to  him  with  downcast  eyes, 
never  daring  to  stir  but  when  we  seemed  to  be 
paying  no  heed  to  her. 

At  the  end  of  a quarter  of  an  hour  the  princes 
drove  off  through  a great  cloud  of  white  dust 
sparkling  in  the  sun,  and  raised  by  the  carriages 
and  the  escort  of  armed  sowars. 

In  the  afternoon  the  Minister  came  to  take  us  to 
the  palace.  The  Rajah,  with  his  cousins,  met  us  at  the 

65 


F 


ENCHANTED  INDIA 


foot  of  the  grand  staircase ; a detachment  of  sowars 
were  on  guard.  With  great  ceremony,  preceded 
and  followed  by  an  army  of  officials  and  attendants, 
we  went  up  to  a room  where  a silver  throne,  inlaid 
with  gold,  of  exquisite  workmanship,  between  two 
armchairs  of  massive  silver,  looked  quite  out  of  keep- 
ing with  gilt  wood  chairs  with  tapestry  seats,  and 
the  everlasting  Brussels  carpet  of  poor  and  glaring 
design.  On  the  various  tables  was  the  latest 
trumpery  from  Oxford  Street — plush  frames  and 
varnished  wooden  screens ; a shower  of  glass  lustres 
hung  from  the  ceiling. 

Three  musicians  in  white,  with  red  turbans, 
squatted  down  on  the  ground  in  front  of  us. 
One  sang  to  the  accompaniment  of  a viol  with 
three  strings  and  nine  frets,  and  a darboukha ; a 
drawling  strain,  all  on  the  upper  notes,  and  rising 
higher  to  a shrill  monotonous  wail,  retarded,  as 
it  were,  to  a rhythm  against  the  accompaniment; 
then  by  degrees  more  lively,  faster  and  faster, 
ending  with  a sudden  stop  on  a word  of  guttural 
consonants.  But  the  man  began  again ; he  sang 
for  a long  time,  varying  the  tunes,  always  return- 
ing to  the  first.  But  nothing  of  them  remains 
in  my  mind,  not  even  the  rhythm,  only  a vague 
recollection,  a singular  echo,  confused  but  charm- 

66 


PALITANA 


mg,  in  spite  of  the  weirdness  of  the  too  high 
pitch. 

Then  two  children,  their  pretty,  fresh  voices  in 
unison,  sang  some  womanly  songs,  languishing 
ballads,  swinging  to  a very  indefinite  rhythm,  and 
suggestive  of  slow  dances  and  waving  gauze  scarves 
in  flowery  gardens  under  the  moonlight. 

With  tea  a servant  brought  packets  of  betel 
in  a chased  gold  box,  with  a lid  imitating  a lotus 
flower.  Then,  when  everybody  was  served,  he 
carefully  replaced  the  precious  object  in  an  em- 
broidered silk  bag  and  disappeared. 

The  little  princess  had  made  her  way  between 
the  seats,  close  up  to  us ; she  was  wrapped  in 
dark-coloured  gauze,  with  woven  gold  borders,  so 
light ! scarcely  less  light  than  the  diaphanous 
material  of  the  dress.  And  as  I admired  this 
wonderful  silk,  the  Rajah  had  some  bayaderes’ 
dresses  brought  out  for  me  to  see : twelve  or 
fifteen  skirts,  one  above  another,  pleated  and 
spangled  with  gold,  yet,  hanging  to  one  finger, 
scarcely  the  weight  of  a straw. 

In  a coach-house,  through  which  we  passed  on 
our  way  to  see  the  prince’s  favourite  horses  with 
the  state  carriages — quite  commonplace  and  com- 
fortable, and  made  at  Palitana — was  a chigram, 

67 


ENCHANTED  INDIA 


off  which  its  silk  cover  was  lifted ; it  was 
painted  bright  red  and  spangled  with  twinkling 
copper  nails.  This  carriage,  which  is  hermetically 
closed  when  the  Ranee  goes  out  in  it,  was  lined 
with  cloth -of -gold  patterned  with  Gohel  Sheri’s 
initials  within  a horseshoe : a little  hand-glass 
on  one  of  the  cushions,  two  boxes  of  chased  silver, 
the  curtains  and  hangings  redolent  of  otto  of 
roses. 

A carriage  with  four  horses,  and  servants  in  dark 
green  livery  thickly  braided  with  silver,  and  gold 
turbans  with  three  raised  corners  very  like  the 
cocked  hats  of  the  French  Guards,  were  standing 
in  the  Court  of  Honour.  The  little  princess  took  a 
seat  between  her  father  and  me.  To  drive  out 
she  had  put  on  an  incredible  necklace  with  bosses 
of  diamonds  and  heavy  emerald  pendants.  With 
her  talismans  round  her  neck  in  little  gold  boxes, 
with  this  necklace  of  light,  and  rings  of  precious 
stones  in  her  ears,  she  looked  like  a too  exquisite 
idol,  motionless  and  silent.  It  was  not  till  we  were 
returning  and  the  falling  night  hid  her  glittering 
jewels  that  she  chirped  a few  words,  and  consented 
to  give  me  her  hand,  and  even  sang  a few  crystal 
notes  of  a favourite  song.  A little  princess  of 
seven  years  who  can  already  read  and  write,  sew 

68 


PALITANA 


and  embroider,  sing  in  time,  and  dance  as  lightly, 
I should  fancy,  as  a butterfly  with  her  tiny  feet, 
that  fidget  in  her  gold  slippers  when  she  hears  the 
music — though,  frightened  lest  the  Rajah  should 
make  her  dance  before  me,  she  denied  it  altogether 
— a little  princess,  an  only  child,  whom  her  father 
takes  with  him  everywhere  that  she  may  see  some- 
thing of  the  world  before  she  is  eleven  years  old,  for 
after  that  she  will  never  leave  her  mother’s  zenana 
but  to  marry  and  be  shut  up  in  another  harem. 

On  the  road  the  people  bowed  low  as  we  passed, 
almost  to  the  earth.  The  women,  in  token  of 
respect,  turned  their  backs  and  crouched  down. 

In  the  prince’s  stables  were  a long  row  of  brood 
mares  and  superb  stallions ; and  then  a hundred 
or  so  of  colts  were  turned  out  into  the  yard — 
mischievous,  frisking  things,  romping  against  each 
other,  suddenly  stopping  short,  and  wrapped  ere 
long  in  white  dust,  which  fell  on  us,  too. 

The  Prince  of  Morvi  came  before  sunrise  to  take 
us  to  the  temples  of  Satrunji.  On  the  way  we 
outstripped  carts  packed  full  of  women  and  children 
in  light  shimmering  muslins.  They  were  all  making 
a pilgrimage  to  the  sacred  hill,  singing  shrill  chants 
in  time  to  the  jolting  of  their  springless  vehicles, 

69 


ENCHANTED  INDIA 


and  broken  by  oaths  and  imprecations  at  the  stop- 
pages occasioned  by  our  expedition. 

The  holy  hill,  bristling  at  top  with  the  conical 
roofs  of  the  pagodas,  rises  isolated  in  the  vast 
stretch  of  silky  grass,  enclosed  by  a distant  fringe 
of  pale  violet  heights.  At  the  foot  of  the  ascent — 
in  some  places  an  incline,  and  in  others  a flight  of 
steps  going  straight  up  to  the  temples— bearers 
were  waiting  for  us,  and  an  armed  escort.  A mob 
of  pilgrims  were  shouting  at  the  top  of  their  voices, 
and  did  not  cease  their  squabbling  till  we  began 
the  climb  in  our  most  uncomfortable  palankins, 
etiquette  forbidding  us,  alas ! to  get  out  of  them. 
One  of  my  bearers,  almost  naked,  with  a mere  rag 
of  white  cotton  stuff  round  his  hips,  had  hanging 
from  his  left  ear  a ring  with  three  pearls  as  large 
as  peas  and  of  luminous  sheen. 

Stations  for  prayer  stand  all  along  the  road ; 
little  open  shrines,  where  footprints  are  worshipped, 
stamped  on  flags  of  white  marble,  a large  foot- 
print surrounded  by  a dozen  of  a child’s  foot. 

In  front  of  us  were  men  loaded  with  bundles  or 
with  children ; old  women  gasping  as  they  leaned  on 
long  staves;  chattering  women  with  green  or  pink 
or  white  veils,  their  arms  full  of  sheaves  of  flowers. 
By  each  little  temple — between  which  there  are 

70 


PALITANA 


kiosks,  sheltering  innumerable  grinning  idols  — 
trees  grow,  and  under  their  shade  the  pilgrims 
break  the  climb  with  a short  rest.  In  a palankin, 
carried  by  two  men,  a slim  woman’s  figure  was 
borne  past,  in  a pink  gauze  dress  spangled  with 
silver ; her  feet  and  hands,  beringed  with  silver  and 
gold,  were  exquisitely  delicate.  For  an  instant  her 
veil  blew  aside,  showing  her  face,  rigid  with  horrible 
white  leprosy,  only  her  almond-shaped  black  eyes 
— beautiful  eyes — were  alive  with  intense  brilliancy, 
full  of  unfathomable  woe. 

In  front  of  a statue  of  Kali  with  a hundred 
arms,  surrounded  by  rough  votive  offerings  carved 
in  wood,  most  of  them  representing  legs,  a man  was 
pouring  out  rice,  and  a whole  flight  of  grey  leilas 
— birds  like  magpies — almost  settled  on  his  hands: 
birds  of  the  temple,  so  familiar  that  one  even 
allowed  me  to  catch  it,  and  did  not  fly  away  at 
once  when  I set  it  at  liberty.  There  are  rows  of 
black  Buddhas,  white  Buddhas,  Sivas  painted  red — 
terrible — straddling  in  fighting  attitudes ; pilgrims 
without  end  bow  and  pray  in  front  of  each  idol. 

We  reached  the  top  of  the  hill,  the  sacred 
enclosure  of  the  Jain  temples.  A stoppage  again 
and  a fresh  dispute.  The  priests  would  not  admit 
within  the  temples  our  soldiers,  who  wore  shoes, 

71 


ENCHANTED  INDIA 


belts,  and  gun -straps  made  of  the  skins  of  dead 
beasts.  The  sowars  wanted  to  go  on,  declaring  that 
they  would  take  no  orders  from  “ such  men,  priests 
with  dyed  beards,  dressed  in  red  flannel,  with  their 
turbans  undone  and  heated  with  rage.” 

The  heavy  door,  plated  with  iron,  was  shut. 
Hubbub,  shouts,  thumps  on  the  wood  with  gun- 
stocks — nothing  stirred,  no  reply. 

I proposed  to  go  in  without  the  soldiers.  Im- 
possible, it  was  not  etiquette!  I was  the  Kajah’s 
guest.  The  Prince  of  Morvi  and  I could  not  mingle 
with  the  crowd,  our  escort  was  necessary  to  isolate 
us.  Well,  then,  the  soldiers  must  take  off  their 
shoes,  and  leave  their  belts  and  guns  at  the  door ! 
Again  impossible.  Where  would  the  prestige  of 
the  uniform  be  ? 

My  friend  T , long  a resident  in  India,  and 

quite  unmoved  by  the  habitual  turmoil  of  the 
native  Hindoos,  finally  settled  the  difficulty  between 
the  cabbage  of  the  priests  and  the  soldiers’  goat; 
the  men  would  put  on  hemp-shoes,  and  we  also, 
over  our  leather  boots;  as  to  the  belt  and  gun- 
slings,  as  they  only  touched  the  soldiers  themselves, 
they  could  defile  nothing  and  might  be  allowed 
to  pass. 

So  at  last  the  door  was  opened. 

72 


PALITANA 


On  the  very  summit  of  the  hill,  all  over  the 
ravine  which  divided  it  from  another,  and  which 
has  been  filled  up  at  an  enormous  cost,  and  then 
on  the  top  of  that  other  hill  beyond,  temples  are 
piled  up,  shining  against  the  too-blue  sky,  with 
pointed  roofs  of  stone,  scorched  by  the  sun  or 
stained  by  the  rain,  and  patterned  with  pale-hued 
lichens.  Above  each  a spear  stands  up,  impaling 
a metal  ball.  In  infinite  variety,  differing  in 
materials,  style,  and  proportions,  some  quite  small, 
as  if  they  had  sprouted  round  the  base  of  others 
that  are  gigantic,  there  are  here  five  thousand 
temples  built  by  the  faithful,  who  are  incessantly 
erecting  more,  devoting  great  fortunes  to  the  vanity 
of  leaving  a chapel  that  bears  their  name. 

Spread  before  us  in  the  iridescent  atmosphere, 
the  view  extends  over  Palitana  under  its  blue  veil 
of  light  smoke,  over  the  verdant  plain  chequered 
with  plots  of  brown  earth,  and  the  winding  ribbon 
of  the  Satrunji,  a river  as  sacred  to  the  Jains  as 
the  Ganges  is  to  the  Brahmins.  And  far  away, 
vague  in  the  distance,  a light  shimmering  more 
brightly  where  all  is  bright,  lies  the  luminou 
breadth  of  the  sea. 

Just  within  the  enclosure  to  our  right  is  a tomb. 
A Mohammedan  who  came  forth  to  take  the  sacred 

73 


ENCHANTED  INDIA 


hill,  the  brother  of  an  emperor  of  Delhi,  fell  dead 
at  the  foot  of  a Jain  idol,  which  he  had  dared  to 
touch  with  his  staff.  How  the  legend  developed 
it  is  impossible  to  say ; but  this  warrior,  buried  on 
the  spot  where  he  was  stricken  down  by  the 
divinity,  has  the  miraculous  power  of  curing 
barrenness  in  the  women  who  invoke  him.  Votive 
offerings,  little  cradles  daubed  with  yellow  and 
red,  are  heaped  on  the  pavement  and  hang  to  the 
railing. 

A wide  avenue  paved  with  marble,  rising  in 
broad  steps,  crosses  the  hilltop  between  temples 
on  either  side,  intersecting  narrower  alleys,  like- 
wise bordered  with  pagodas  crowded  together  in 
the  inextricable  mazes  of  a labyrinth,  whence  our 
guides  were  frequently  required  to  lead  us  out — 
temples  crowned  with  a cupola  or  a cone,  a 
bristling  throng  of  little  extinguishers  all  covered 
with  carving.  The  same  subjects  and  patterns 
are  repeated  to  infinity,  even  in  the  darkest  nooks : 
figures  of  gods,  of  gigantic  beasts  rearing  or  gallop- 
ing, of  monstrous  horses  and  elephants,  of  tiny 
birds  sheltering  the  slumbers  of  the  gods  under 
their  outspread  wings. 

On  the  stone  ceiling  of  almost  every  temple 
four  large  women’s  faces  and  certain  crouching 

74 


PALITANA 


gnomes  appear  in  fresh  red  paint.  In  the  very 
dim  twilight  that  comes  in  through  the  narrow 
windows  hung  with  blue  gauze,  the  idols  are  visible 
behind  lattices : white  Buddhas  blazing  with 

sparkling  gems  that  hang  on  their  wrists  and 
ankles,  or  form  a perfect  breastplate ; and  every 
one,  without  exception,  has  an  enormous  glittering 
imitation  diamond  in  his  forehead. 

In  the  shrine  of  Chaumuc,  the  god  of  many 
faces,  the  four  masks  grin  down  from  the  sides 
of  a square  pillar  of  white  stucco.  The  walls, 
vault,  and  pavement  of  this  temple  are  all  red, 
with  borders  of  green  and  yellow ; the  colours 
scream  in  contrast  to  the  whiteness  of  the  images, 
with  their  staring  eyes  made  of  crystal  balls  that 
look  like  spectacles. 

Another  sanctuary  holds  an  idol  made  of  seven 
metals  mingled  to  a pale  golden  hue.  The  statue 
is  loaded  with  jewellery  of  silver  and  precious 
stones.  On  its  head  is  a fan-shaped  diadem  starred 
with  rubies.  The  walls  and  columns,  of  a dull 
purple,  are  decorated  with  gaudy  mosaic  of  scraps 
of  looking-glass  set  in  brass  along  the  lines  of 
the  mouldings. 

Pilgrims  crowd  the  courts  and  the  temples.  All, 
when  they  speak,  hold  a hand  or  a corner  of  their 

75 


ENCHANTED  INDIA 


robe  before  their  lips  to  avoid  swallowing  the 

tiniest  insect,  which  would  avert  the  favour  of 
the  gods.  They  bring  offerings  of  rice  or  gram 
in  little  bags  of  faded  silk,  pale  pink,  or  green, 
and  gold  thread ; the  poorest  have  bags  of  red 
and  white  beads. 

A very  large  temple,  with  its  walls  pierced 
in  Persian  patterns,  contains  fifty  - two  chapels 
behind  pointed  arches.  In  each  chapel  are  four 

gods,  all  alike,  of  white  plaster,  all  decked  with 

the  same  jewels.  In  an  angle  of  the  vaulting 

a female  figure,  carved  in  the  stone  and  wearing 
a tiara,  holds  an  infant  in  her  arms ; this  statue, 
with  its  long  face  and  the  rigid  folds  of  the  drapery, 
might  have  been  transferred  here  from  a gothic 
building. 

A bulbul,  flying  out  of  a temple  where  it  had 
been  picking  up  the  offered  rice,  perched  on  a pome- 
granate tree  and  began  to  sing,  at  first  a little  timid 
chirp,  and  then  a ripple  of  song,  soon  drowned  by 
the  shrieks  of  parrots,  which  came  down  on  the 
tree  and  drove  out  the  little  red-breasted  chorister. 

At  the  very  top  of  the  incline,  the  enclosing  wall, 
black  with  age  but  bright  with  yellow  velvet  moss, 
rises  precipitously  above  the  plain,  and  three  light 
balconies,  with  columns  as  slight  as  flower-stems, 

76 


PALITANA 


crowned  with  pointed  roofs  recurved  at  the  angles, 
overhang  the  abyss. 

More  and  yet  more  temples,  seen  through  the 
mist  of  weariness,  the  nightmare  of  grimacing  idols, 
the  heavy  vapour  of  the  incense  burnt  in  every 
chapel,  and  of  the  flowers  brought  by  the  pilgrims. 
A dark  red  pagoda,  lighted  by  a mysterious  blue 
gleam  falling  intermittently  from  somewhere  in  the 
roof,  enshrined  a white  marble  god,  whose  glittering 
gems  seemed  to  rise  and  fall  behind  the  cloud  of 
perfume  that  floated  about  him. 

In  another  place  two  elephants  of  bright  indigo, 
and  some  musicians  all  green,  with  red  parrots  on 
their  wrists,  are  painted  on  the  walls  of  a hall  where 
the  prayer-bell  is  incessantly  tolled.  Here  many 
worshippers  were  prostrate.  An  idol,  flanked  by 
two  statues  on  guard  in  stiff  hieratic  attitudes,  was 
almost  hidden  under  gold  chains  and  a crown  of  in- 
ordinate splendour,  while  a priest,  wearing  only  a 
loin-cloth,  stood  calmly  sluicing  the  white  plaster 
and  putting  the  god  through  his  toilet,  sometimes 
splashing  the  congregation. 

There  is  a very  small  and  simple  niche  against 
the  wall  of  a larger  building,  and  in  this,  without 
even  a railing  to  protect  it,  stands  the  image  of  a 
goddess  robed  in  silk  embroidered  in  gold ; and  in 

77 


ENCHANTED  INDIA 


such  another  little  recess,  not  far  away,  is  the  sister 
of  this  divinity,  also  dressed  in  magnificent  stuffs, 
renewed  by  the  faithful  at  each  high  festival. 

In  a consecrated  hall  we  came  to  a plaster  image 
of  a camel  modelled  over  stone.  To  prove  that  you 
are  without  sin  you  must  be  able  to  pass  under  the 
beast,  or  at  least  between  the  front  legs  and  the 
girth  of  the  belly  without  touching  any  part ; and  so 
very  narrow  is  this  little  gateway  of  Ja'in  virtue 
that,  to  preserve  my  character  in  the  presence  of  my 
escort,  I did  not  attempt  it. 

Another  temple — carved  and  pierced,  and  loaded 
and  overloaded  with  ornament.  In  the  crypt  was  a 
bas-relief  representing  the  ceremony  of  marriage: 
the  procession,  the  couple  in  front  of  the  altar,  the 
relations  sitting  round,  all  alike  in  the  same  crouch- 
ing attitude,  like  toys  set  out  by  a little  child.  Then 
the  model  of  a very  famous  temple  elsewhere  in 
India : columns,  gateways,  statues  of  the  gods,  all 
reproduced  with  microscopic  exactitude  down  to  the 
minutest  details ; and  surrounding  this  tiny  model  a 
bas-relief  of  the  most  bewildering  perspective — a 
plan  of  Satrunji  with  its  fifty-two  principal  temples, 
its  trees  and  sacred  tanks ; and  as  a pendant  to  this 
representation,  a circular  carving  giving  a bird’s-eye 
view  of  the  crowd,  the  same  little  doll-like  figures 

78 


PALITANA 


repeated  again  and  again,  coming  to  worship  with 
arms  and  legs  spread  out,  grovelling,  as  if  they  were 
swimming. 

A large  open  niche,  supported  on  massive  columns 
and  enclosed  by  a carved  parapet,  built  by  some 
king  with  a long,  high-sounding  name,  looks  as  if  it 
were  made  of  gold ; the  stone  is  yellow  and  flooded 
with  sunshine,  which,  where  the  hard  material  is  not 
too  thick,  shines  through  and  makes  it  seem  trans- 
parent, with  the  peculiar  vibrant  glow  of  molten 
metal.  The  shadows,  blue  by  contrast,  are  as  soft 
as  velvet;  twinkling  sparks  are  lighted  up  in  the 
angles  of  the  architrave,  by  the  reflected  rays,  like 
stars  in  the  stone  itself. 

On  a square,  shaded  by  an  awning,  with  porticoes 
all  round,  coolies  in  white  dresses  sat  on  the  ground 
making  up  little  bunches  of  flowers,  the  blossoms 
without  stems  tied  close  to  a pliant  cane  for  garlands 
— jasmine,  roses,  chrysanthemums,  and  sweet  basil — 
for  in  India,  as  in  Byzantium  of  old,  basil  is  the 
flower  of  kings  and  gods.  The  basil’s  fresh  scent 
overpowered  the  smell  of  sandal-wood  and  incense 
which  had  gradually  soaked  into  me  in  the  presence 
of  the  idols,  and  cleared  the  atmosphere  delight- 
fully. A woman  rolled  up  in  pale-tinted  muslins 
under  the  warm  halo  of  light  falling  through  the 

79 


ENCHANTED  INDIA 


awning,  was  helping  one  of  the  florists.  She 
supported  on  her  arm  a long  garland  of  jasmine 
alternating  with  halls  of  roses.  Almost  motionless, 
she  alone,  in  the  midst  of  the  idols,  at  all  reminded 
me  of  a goddess. 

In  the  chief  temple,  whose  walls  were  painted  all 
over,  a huge  Buddha  of  gold  and  silver  was  hidden 
under  wreaths  of  flowers  round  his  neck,  and  a 
diadem  of  flowers  on  his  brow,  where  blazed  a 
luminous  diamond ; and  flowers  were  arranged  in  a 
canopy  over  his  head,  and  were  strewn  like  a carpet 
on  the  steps  of  the  shrine. 

The  fourteen  hundred  and  fifty-two  gods  of  the 
Jain  paradise  are  represented  on  a sculptured 
pyramid  under  a pagoda : little  tadpoles  of  white 
stone  crowded  together,  two  black  dots  showing  for 
eyes  in  the  middle  of  the  round  featureless  faces ; 
on  one  side  a more  important  god,  sitting  alone,  has 
a rather  less  elementary  countenance. 

A very  solid  structure,  with  walls  like  a fortress, 
contains  the  treasury  of  the  sacred  mount.  Five 
guards  in  turn  came  to  open  as  many  padlocks,  and 
at  last  the  ponderous  door  turned  slowly  on  its 
hinges.  A car,  an  elephant,  and  a vehicle  to  which 
are  harnessed  two  prancing  horses,  are  all  brought 
out  to  convey  the  idols  when  they  go  forth  in  a 

80 


PALITANA 


procession.  The  anfimals  are  chased  with  almost 
artistic  skill.  The  harness,  starry  with  precious 
stones,  all  takes  to  pieces. 

Near  one  pagoda,  where  the  highly  venerated 
footprints  of  Adishwara  are  preserved,  a tree — a 
gran  tree — was  cut  down  to  the  root,  and,  as  the 
legend  tells,  grew  again  in  a single  night  as  large  as 
it  now  is ; and  it  would  grow  again  if  it  were  again 
felled,  to  screen  with  its  shade  the  holy  spot  touched 
by  the  god. 

Beyond  the  outermost  wall,  when  we  had  at  last 
left  it  behind  us,  at  the  foot  of  the  pile  of  terra- 
cotta-coloured  bricks,  were  vast  tanks  of  stagnant 
water,  said  to  be  inexhaustible.  Near  them  was  a 
shrine  to  Siva,  with  two  small  idols  hung  with 
yellow  flowers,  where  an  old  Hindoo  was  praying 
devoutly ; and  then  through  a park  of  giant  trees, 
and  shrubs  bright  with  strange  blossoms,  over  which 
the  parrots  flew  screaming. 

As  soon  as  we  returned  to  Palitana  the  Eajah 
sent  to  inquire  after  me,  and  to  present  me  with 
round  boxes  of  fruit  preserved  in  Cashmere,  oval 
green  grapes,  each  wrapped  separately  in  cotton  and 
smelling  of  honey. 

One  of  my  sepoys  was  lying  asleep  in  the  veran- 
81 


G 


ENCHANTED  INDIA 


dah  of  the  bungalow.  A variety  of  articles  hung 
from  his  belt:  an  antelope’s  horn  made  into  a powder- 
flask,  several  tassels  of  red  and  green  silk  threaded 
in  a row,  a triple  chain  of  copper  serving  to  hang  up 
lamps  in  front  of  the  sacred  images,  a small  damas- 
cened knife  in  a crimson  velvet  sheath,  and  a tiny 
yellow  earthenware  bottle  containing  kohl. 

In  the  courtyard  a tall  and  gaudy  cock  was  keep- 
ing the  crows  in  order,  driving  them  relentlessly 
away  from  the  kitchen  precincts.  On  the  roof  of 
the  servants’  quarters,  always  in  the  same  spot, 
perched  a kite,  ready  to  pounce  as  soon  as  any- 
thing was  thrown  out.  The  doves,  the  house- 
pigeons,  the  fowls  fled  at  once  and  squatted  in 
corners ; but  the  cock  stood  his  ground,  his  feathers 
all  on  end,  his  crest  erect,  chuckling  with  rage  and 
stalking  round  the  yard  within  ten  paces  of  the 
bird  of  prey. 

In  the  afternoon  the  Kajah  wore  a pale  green 
dress  embroidered  with  gold  and  gems,  and  sparkling 
with  stones,  and  a wide  rose-coloured  sash  fringed 
with  pearls.  He  wore  no  jewels  but  priceless 
diamond  buckles  in  his  shoes.  As  I had  lingered 
long  in  the  morning  at  a jeweller’s  shop,  the  prince 
wished  to  show  me  his  possessions.  Servants,  as 
solemn  as  gaolers,  brought  in  many  trays  covered 

82 


PALITANA 


with  enormous  emeralds  cut  into  beads  and  strung 
on  white  cords,  necklaces  of  pear-shaped  pearls 
threaded  on  almost  invisible  silk.  And  then,  from 
among  the  goldsmith’s  work,  modelled  into  im- 
possible flowers  and  chimeras  twisted  to  make 
heavy  anklets,  from  among  coat  - buttons,  rings 
and  sword-guards  sparkling  with  diamonds,  the 
Rajah  took  up  a costly  snuff-box  and  begged  me 
keep  it  as  a remembrance. 

The  elephant  of  ceremony,  covered  with  a velvet 
cloth  embroidered  with  gold,  on  which  was  placed  a 
massive  silver  howdah  edged  with  gold,  was  in  wait- 
ing to  take  me  for  a ride.  Round  the  beast’s  neck 
hung  a huge  necklace  of  balls  as  large  as  apples  and 
long  pendants  from  his  ears,  all  of  silver,  tinkling 
as  he  moved  and  glittering  in  the  sun.  The  mahout 
rested  a ladder  against  the  elephant’s  head  for  me 
to  mount  by,  and  we  set  out,  following  the  Rajah 
and  escorted  by  sowars,  to  the  very  modern  tennis 
club  of  Palitana. 

The  game  had  begun.  The  prince’s  cousins,  dressed 
in  light  white  muslin,  seemed  to  fly  as  they  ran  after 
the  ball  in  the  fluttering  of  the  diaphanous  stuff. 

The  guards’  band  played  Indian  tunes,  to  a measure 
I could  not  yet  catch,  and  Strauss’  waltzes  very 
oddly  accented.  Suddenly  the  princess  appeared, 

83 


ENCHANTED  INDIA 


in  soft  rose-pink  lightly  touched  with  blue.  She 
wore  a pearl  necklace  with  slides  of  ruby  and 
emerald,  shoes  thickly  worked  with  gold,  and  a 
broad  pink  sash  somewhat  darker  in  colour  than 
her  silver-striped  tunic. 

Evening  fell,  purple  and  orange  tinging  the 
princes’  muslins  to  delicate  hues;  then  very  quickly 
all  was  dark.  Deep  melancholy  came  over  us ; we 
all  sat  without  speaking  a word,  while  from  afar 
came  the  clatter  of  tom-toms  from  the  temple,  some- 
times drowning  the  music,  which  droned  on  in  a 
minor  key,  a maundering  strain  without  a close  but 
constantly  repeating  itself. 

The  Eajah,  a prisoner  in  his  little  state,  a ruler 
only  in  name  and  deposed  from  his  power,  as  I rose 
to  take  my  leave,  cast  a glance  of  deep  melancholy 
towards  a last  golden  beam  that  quivered  on  the 
sacred  hill,  and  seemed  to  awake  from  a dream. 


BHAWNAGAR 

The  little  palace  of  Nilam  Bagh,  panelled  inside 
throughout  with  carved  wood,  looks  like  a jewel- 
casket  dropped  in  a vast  park  of  green  shade  and 

84 


BH  AWN  AGAR 


broad  lawns.  Rawl  Shri  Bhaosinhji,  Rajah  of 
Bhawnagar,  is  very  young,  almost  a child,  and 
still  very  shy,  dressed  in  the  European  fashion 
in  a long  grey  overcoat,  with  a voluminous  turban 
of  turquoise-blue  gauze. 

As  soon  as  he  had  bid  us  welcome,  bunches  of 
chrysanthemums  were  presented  to  us  tied  round 
a little  stick.  The  Rajah  hung  garlands  of  jasmine 
round  our  neck,  and  a servant  sprinkled  us  with  otto 
of  roses.  The  conversation  turned  on  Europe,  which 
Rawl  Shri  regards  as  a land  of  marvels,  where  fairy- 
like manufactures  are  produced  and  extraordinary 
forces  have  subjugated  nature.  He,  like  his  cousin 
of  Palitana,  has  a passion  for  horses,  and  he  took 
me  to  visit  his  stud. 

On  the  edge  of  a pool,  where,  like  a huge,  full- 
blown lotus  flower,  stands  a kiosk  of  sculptured 
marble,  dedicated  to  the  Rajah’s  mother,  we  came 
upon  the  shoe  market,  the  last  survival  of  a time 
not  so  very  long  ago,  when  shoemakers,  as  working 
on  the  skins  of  dead  beasts,  dared  not  come  within 
the  precincts  of  a town. 

It  was  a miserable  assemblage  of  booths  and 
tumble-down  dwellings,  crowded  round  a sumptuous 
old  palace  with  porticoes  carved  with  divinities.  The 
new  town  consists  of  modern  buildings,  devoid  of 

85 


ENCHANTED  INDIA 


style,  the  residence  of  wealthy  Parsee  merchants. 
Here  are  libraries,  archives — all  kinds  of  offices, 
which  seem  so  useless  here,  and  which,  till  I was 
told  what  they  were,  I took  to  be  a prison. 

A long  train  of  wailing  women,  loud  in  lamenta- 
tion, came  slowly  out  of  a house  where  one  lay  dead 
whom  they  had  just  been  to  look  at,  on  their  way 
now  to  wash  their  garments,  defiled  by  contact  with 
the  body.  But  all  dressed  in  red,  with  gaudy 
embroidery  in  yellow,  white,  and  green,  and  large 
spangles  of  looking-glass  glittering  in  the  sun,  they 
did  not  look  much  like  mourners. 

Pieally  the  prison  this  time  ! in  the  midst  of  a 
large  enclosure  with  high  walls;  a building  on  a 
star-shaped  plan,  with  large  windows  to  admit  air 
and  daylight.  The  prisoners,  in  a white  uniform, 
with  chains  on  their  feet,  were  manufacturing 
various  articles  in  basket-work,  and  in  a shed  with 
a cotton  awning  a hundred  or  so  of  convicts  were 
weaving  carpets.  The  brilliancy  of  colour  was  in- 
describable ; the  vividness  of  the  medley  of  worsted 
piled  by  the  side  of  the  gorgeous  looms,  the  light 
hues  of  the  dresses,  the  faded  turbans  touched  with 
light,  the  glitter  of  the  steel  chains,  the  bronze 
skins,  glorified  to  gold  in  the  quivering  sunshine, 
which,  scarcely  subdued  by  the  awning,  bathed  the 

86 


BH  AWN  AGAR 


scene  in  a glow  so  intense  that  it  seemed  to  proceed 
from  the  objects  themselves.  Behind  each  loom  sat 
a warder,  with  the  pattern  of  the  carpet  on  his  knees, 
dictating  the  colours  to  the  weavers,  chanting  out 
his  weariful  litany  of  numbers  and  shades  in  a 
monotonous  voice. 

A poor  old  fellow,  behind  a grating  that  shut  him 
into  a kind  of  hovel,  called  out  to  us,  first  beseeching  # 
and  then  threatening,  rushing  frantically  to  the 
back  of  his  hut  and  at  once  coming  forward  again 
with  fresh  abuse.  He  was  a dangerous  madman, 
placed  there  to  keep  him  out  of  mischief  and  to  be 
cured  by  the  Divinity. 

In  the  bazaar  I sought  in  vain  for  the  petticoats 
embroidered  with  rosettes,  flowers,  and  elephants  pur- 
sued by  tigers,  such  as  the  women  wear  here ; these 
robes  are  made  only  to  order  and  are  not  to  be  found. 
Then  Abibulla  simply  asked  a beggar-woman  to  sell 
me  hers.  The  poor  creature,  hooted  at  by  some 
old  gossips,  retired  into  a corner  to  undress,  and, 
wrapped  in  the  packing-cloth  in  which  she  had  been 
carrying  some  rags,  brought  me  the  petticoat. 

A tame  white  antelope  was  wandering  about  the 
garden  of  the  old  rajahs’  palace,  under  a shower 
of  gardenia  - like  flowers  that  hung  by  a stem 

87 


ENCHANTED  INDIA 


scarcely  thicker  than  a thread.  The  whole  of  one 
avenue  was  strewn  with  this  snow,  on  which  the 
graceful  little  beast,  with  its  large  sad  eyes,  was 
feeding.  Further  on,  under  some  other  trees  with 
red  blossoms,  stands  a little  mausoleum  built  by  the 
prince  over  Jacky,  his  dog,  “ who  was  faithful  and 
good.” 

Some  native  lancers  were  manoeuvring ; they 
charged  at  top  speed  in  a swirl  of  golden  dust, 
which  transfigured  their  movements,  making  them 
look  as  though  they  did  not  touch  the  earth,  but 
were  riding  on  the  clouds.  They  swept  lightly  past, 
almost  diaphanous,  the  colour  of  their  yellow  khaki 
uniforms  mingling  with  the  ochre  sand;  and  then, 
not  ten  yards  off,  they  stopped  short,  with  astonish- 
ing precision,  like  an  apparition.  Their  lances 
quivered  for  an  instant,  a flash  of  steel  sparks 
against  the  sky — a salute  to  the  Maharajah — and 
then  they  were  as  motionless  as  statues. 

The  regiment  is  housed  under  sheds,  the  horses 
picketed  to  the  ground  by  one  fore  and  one  hind 
foot.  They  are  thoroughbred  and  magnificent 
beasts,  almost  all  from  the  prince’s  stud,  and 
affectionately  cared  for  by  the  men,  who  were 
delighted  to  be  complimented  on  their  steeds. 


88 


BHAWNAGAR 


A New  Year’s  dinner  this  evening  at  the  Guest 
Bungalow.  The  prince,  forbidden  by  his  religion 
to  eat  with  men  who  are  not  of  his  own  caste,  was 

represented  by  Mr.  S , the  English  engineer  at 

Bhawnagar. 

The  long  table  was  filled  with  officials  and  their 
wives,  as  happy  as  children — pulling  crackers  at 
dessert,  putting  on  paper  caps,  singing  the  latest 
music-hall  nonsense;  while  outside,  jackals  whined, 
suddenly  coming  so  close  that  they  drowned  the 
voices  and  the  accompaniment  on  the  piano. 

At  the  railway  station  a woman,  who  would 
accept  no  gratuity,  strewed  flowers  on  the  cushions 
of  my  carriage,  and  put  garlands  along  the  grooves 
of  the  open  windows — bunches  of  ebony  flowers,  of 
Indian  cork-flowers,  lilies,  and  China  roses  on  the 
point  of  dropping,  only  hanging  to  the  calyx  by 
the  tip  of  the  petals. 

In  the  distance,  across  the  plain,  herds  of  deer 
were  feeding,  and  hardly  looked  up  as  the  train 
went  by. 

At  a station  where  we  stopped,  a man  with  a 
broad,  jolly,  smiling  face  got  into  the  carriage.  He 
was  a juggler  and  a magician,  could  do  whatever  he 
would,  and  at  the  time  when  the  line  was  opened 

89 


ENCHANTED  INDIA 


he  threatened  that  if  he  were  not  allowed  to  travel 
free  he  would  break  the  trains  into  splinters.  The 
officials  had  a panic,  and  the  authorities  were  so 
nervous  that  they  gave  way ; so  he  is  always 
travelling  from  one  station  to  another,  living  in 
the  carriages. 

He  came  into  ours  as  if  he  were  at  home,  and 
amused  himself  by  worrying  me.  At  first  he  made 
believe  to  throw  my  rings  out  of  window,  sub- 
stituting others,  I know  not  how,  which  I saw  fall 
on  the  line  and  roll  into  the  grass  on  the  bank. 
My  watch  got  into  his  hands  and  vanished ; I found 

it  in  my  friend  T ’s  pocket,  and  afterwards  in  a 

basket  of  provender  closed  at  Bhawnagar,  and  which 
I unpacked  with  my  own  hands. 

The  man  was  dressed  in  blue  and  silver,  his  belt 
studded  with  four  - anna  pieces ; hanging  to  his 
girdle  was  a whole  array  of  small  knives,  sheaths, 
and  boxes.  With  his  sleeves  turned  up  to  his 
elbows,  he  fairly  amazed  me,  conjuring  away  into 
the  air  eight  rupees  that  filled  his  hand,  and  find- 
ing them  again  one  by  one  in  our  pockets,  bags, 
or  plaids.  He  turned  everything  topsy-turvy, 
swaggered  as  if  he  were  the  master,  and  then 
went  off,  with  his  broad  smile,  to  amuse  other 
travellers. 


90 


BOMBAY 


At  another  station,  a man,  standing  on  the  carriage 
step,  held  out  a broad  sheet  to  a servant,  the  two 
ends  falling  to  the  ground.  Then  a lady  stepped 
out,  hid  herself  under  the  stuff,  which  wrapped  her 
from  head  to  foot,  and  walked  along  the  platform 
with  a woman-servant.  She  was  the  wife  of  some 
superior  clerk,  not  rich  enough  to  have  a palankin, 
but  of  too  high  caste  to  uncover  her  face — a white 
bundle  tottering  along  the  platform.  One  of  her 
antelope-skin  slippers  came  off;  for  a second  a tiny 
foot  was  put  out  with  silver  anklets.  The  woman 
put  her  mistress’s  shoe  on  again,  and  then  both  went 
to  the  waiting-room  reserved  for  ladies. 


BOMBAY 

A town  in  mourning.  In  the  suburban  stations, 
so  crowded  but  three  weeks  since,  there  was  no- 
body, and  nobody  in  the  train  we  travelled  by. 
No  coolies  for  the  baggage,  no  carriages,  and  the 
tramcars  running  down  the  wide,  deserted  road 
carried  no  passengers.  The  hotel  was  closed,  all 
the  servants  had  fled  in  terror  of  the  plague,  which 
was  raging  with  increased  violence.  Every  shop 

91 


ENCHANTED  INDIA 


had  the  shutters  up;  the  great  market,  full  of  golden 
fruit  and  shaded  by  the  flowering  trees,  was  equally 
empty,  and  in  the  bazaar  the  rare  wayfarers  hurried 
by  in  silence. 

In  the  evening  at  Byculla,  in  the  street  of  the 
disreputable,  in  front  of  a house  hermetically  closed, 
and  painted  with  a round  red  spot  for  each  person 
who  had  died  there,  a fire  of  sulphur  was  burning 
with  a livid  glow.  Only  one  gambling-house  tried 
to  tempt  customers  with  a great  noise  of  harmonium 
and  tom-toms;  and  from  a side  street  came  a 
response  of  muffled  tambourines  and  castanets. 
First  the  dead,  wrapped  in  red  stuff  and  tied  to  a 
bamboo,  and  then  the  procession  turned  into  the 
lighted  street.  White  shapes  crowded  by,  vanish- 
ing at  once,  and  the  harmonium  again  rose  above 
the  silence  with  its  skipping  tunes,  and  the  tom- 
toms beating  out  of  time — and  attracted  no  one. 


HYDERABAD 

At  night,  in  the  crowded  station,  a guard  of 
honour  was  waiting,  composed  of  sepoys.  There 
was  shouting  among  the  crowd,  a fanatical  turmoil, 
a storm  of  orders,  and  heavy  blows.  Some  great 

92 


HYDERABAD 


magnate  got  out  of  the  train,  surrounded  by 
secretaries  and  officers.  The  soldiers,  bearing 
torches,  attended  him  to  his  carriage;  they  re- 
mounted their  horses,  following  the  vehicle,  in 
which  a light  dress  was  visible.  Very  fast,  and 
with  a great  clatter,  they  rode  away  into  the  silent 
night  fragrant  with  rich  scents ; they  were  lost 
under  the  trees  to  reappear  in  the  distance  on  a 
height,  the  torches  galloping  still  and  the  smoke 
hanging  in  a ruddy  cloud  above  the  bright  steel 
and  the  white  cruppers.  Then,  at  a turn  in  the 
road,  they  all  vanished. 

Beyond  the  new  town  of  broad  avenues  planted 
with  trees  and  bordered  with  gardens,  was  a brand- 
new  bridge  of  gaudy  bricks  over  a river,  almost  dry, 
where  a swarm  of  naked  natives  were  performing 
their  ablutions — washing  linen  and  shaking  out  red 
and  white  cloths,  as  far  as  the  eye  could  see. 
Buffaloes  lying  in  the  mud  were  sleeping  among 
the  tame  ducks,  the  ibis,  and  the  herons,  all  seeking 
their  food.  An  elephant  plunged  into  the  water, 
splashing  it  up  and  scaring  thousands  of  bright 
birds,  which  flew  up  against  the  intensely  blue  sky. 

A tall  wide  gate  beyond  the  bridge  opens  into  the 
ferocious  fortress  of  Hyderabad. 

93 


ENCHANTED  INDIA 


Soldiers,  bristling  with  daggers  and  pistols  in  their 
belts,  are  on  guard  at  the  gate.  Pikes  and  long 
muskets  stand  piled  in  the  background ; over  this 
arsenal,  flowering  jasmine  and  convolvulus  with 
enormous  bell  flowers  hang  their  graceful  shade. 

In  the  streets,  swarming  with  people,  every  woman 
who  is  not  a pariah,  walks  veiled  in  all  the  mystery 
of  her  unrevealed  features,  her  long,  dreamy  eyes 
alone  visible. 

Country  folks  bring  in  cages  of  birds  full  of  the 
poor  little  fluttering  things,  which  are  bought  by 
children  and  by  many  men,  captive  at  the  end  of 
a long  string ; pretty  black-headed  bulbuls,  so  bold 
in  the  land  of  the  Buddhists,  and  victims  here  to  the 
Moslems. 

A palanlcin,  hung  with  heavy  red  curtains,  went 
by  very  quickly,  borne  by  five  men.  They  chanted 
a sort  of  double-quick  march,  marking  the  time  with 
a plaintive  sigh  and  a slight  bend  of  the  knees,  which 
gave  their  pace  the  appearance  of  a dance,  the  litter 
swaying  very  gently. 

A spell  seemed  to  linger  over  this  little  bazaar, 
to  slacken  every  movement  and  give  the  people  an 
indolent  grace.  They  spoke  languidly  in  the  shade 
of  the  awnings  spread  by  the  flower-sellers  and  the 
jewellers,  who,  with  little  ringing  taps,  were  ham- 

94 


HYDERABAD 


mering  out  minute  patterns  on  silver  anklets  and 
necklaces. 

Traversing  the  narrow  avenues  that  intersect  the 
bazaar,  we  came  to  a series  of  quiet  courts ; here 
were  the  police-station,  the  small  barracks,  and 
stables  for  camels  and  elephants.  In  a blind  alley 
we  found  a white  mosque,  where  men  were  praying 
robed  in  pink  and  green ; while  opposite,  below  a 
house  consisting  of  three  stories  of  arcades,  some 
Syrian  horses,  as  slender  as  gazelles,  were  exercis- 
ing on  the  bright-hued  mosaic  floor  of  the  open 
stable. 

Between  the  houses  tiny  garden-plots  full  of 
flowers  surround  gravestones,  on  which  fresh  roses 
are  constantly  laid. 

Elephants  came  along,  stepping  daintily,  but  filling 
the  whole  width  of  the  street,  looking,  with  one 
little  slanting  eye  cocked,  as  if  they  were  laughing 
at  the  foot  - passengers  who  were  compelled  to 
squeeze  against  the  wall. 

Presently  three  beggar-women  came  up  to  sing 
from  door  to  door.  In  their  arms,  like  babies  at 
the  breast,  they  carried  shapeless  idols  painted  red, 
bedizened  with  spangles  and  gilt  paper.  They  wailed 
out  a ditty  repeated  again  and  again,  knocked 
perseveringly  at  the  doors,  insisting  on  alms ; and 

95 


ENCHANTED  INDIA 


then,  when  they  had  received  it,  they  touched  the 
threshold  with  their  blood-coloured  puppets  and 
departed. 

In  the  shops  the  salesmen,  to  weigh  their  mer- 
chandise, had  a strange  collection  of  curious  weights 
— dumps,  rings,  balls  of  copper,  iron,  or  lead, 
stamped  or  inlaid  with  symbols  and  flowers ; frag- 
ments of  spoons  to  make  up  too  light  a weight, 
even  pieces  of  wood;  and  they  used  them  all  with 
perfect  readiness  and  never  made  a mistake. 

Where  the  roads  cross  there  are  basins  where 
flowers  are  kept  fresh,  and  above  them  white  pigeons 
are  always  fluttering.  Public  scribes,  squatting 
cross-legged  on  the  ground,  trace  letters  that  look 
like  arabesques,  on  rice-paper,  with  a reed  pen. 
Those  who  dictate  them  crouch  beside  them  with 
an  absorbed  and  meditative  expression,  dropping 
out  the  words  one  by  one  with  long  pauses  between. 

Then  some  men  go  past  who  have  a stick  like  a 
distaff  thrust  through  their  belt  with  a net  wound 
round  it;  they  net  as  they  walk,  heedless  of  jostling, 
their  eyes  fixed  on  their  work. 

In  the  distance  is  the  great  mosque  which  no 
unbeliever  may  enter ; the  doors  stand  wide  open. 
The  only  ornaments  on  the  white  walls  are  the 
lamps,  hung  with  red.  In  the  court  of  the  mosque, 

96 


HYDERABAD 


under  magnificent  trees,  are  the  tombs  of  the 
Nizams,  with  stone  lattices,  jewellery  of  marble, 
fragile  pierced  work,  whereon  wreaths  of  pale 
flowers  are  wrought  with  infinite  grace.  Near 
these  tombs  are  two  large  fountains,  where  a crowd 
of  men  were  bathing,  talking  very  loud ; and  a large 
basin  of  porphyry  full  of  grain  was  besieged  by 
grey  pigeons. 

All  round  the  mosque,  in  narrow  alleys,  are  more 
and  yet  more  tombs,  strewn  with  roses  and  enclosed 
in  little  plots.  Some  stand  out  in  the  street  un- 
enclosed, like  milestones. 

There  was  a children’s  garden-party  to-day  in  the 
grounds  of  the  English  Resident ; a crowd  of  fair- 
haired babies,  excessively  Gi'eenaway  in  their  long, 
light  frocks  with  bright-hued  sashes.  They  shouted 
with  joy  at  the  swings  and  wooden  horses,  clapping 
their  hands  when  it  came  to  their  turn  to  ride  the 
elephant  that  marched  about  the  park — so  fair,  so 
bright,  with  their  nurses  or  Indian  ayahs  wrapped 
in  crude  showy  muslins. 

And  as  they  went  home  at  nightfall  enormous 
bats  came  out  and  flew  across  above  the  tall  trees 
in  heavy,  steady,  straight  flight.  Without  a sound 
they  made  for  the  last  gleam  on  the  horizon,  where 

97 


H 


ENCHANTED  INDIA 


the  vanished  sun  had  left  a crimson  line ; and  what 
an  insistent  image  of  death  and  oblivion  were  those 
great  black  fowl,  slowly  flapping  their  five-fingered 
wings  spread  out  round  their  bodies,  headless  as 
they  would  seem,  so  small  is  the  head,  and  so  close- 
set  on  the  neck.  One  might  fancy  that  they  were 
bearing  away  the  day,  gliding  noiseless  and  innu- 
merable towards  the  west,  where  already  the  last 
gleam  is  dead. 

Outside  the  fortifications  is  a peaceful  township 
of  large  gardens  with  row  on  row  of  tombstones  and 
mausoleums  ; some  of  enormous  size,  palaces  of  the 
dead,  and  others  smaller,  but  wrought  like  lace- 
work  of  stone.  For  a league  or  more  the  necropolis 
lies  on  both  sides  of  the  road.  Across  the  door  of 
each  mausoleum  hangs  a chain  by  the  middle  and 
the  two  ends. 

But  this  suburb  is  now  no  more  than  a heap 
of  huts  and  hovels.  The  tombs,  ruined  and  over- 
thrown, are  few  and  far  apart,  heaped  with  sand, 
and  showing  as  arid  hillocks  amid  the  level  of 
withered  grass.  The  plain  beyond,  laid  out  in  rice- 
fields  of  a tender  green,  furrowed  with  silver 
streamlets,  spreads  unbroken  to  the  foot  of  a huge 
wall  of  the  hue  of  red  gold  enclosing  a hill ; and  on 

98 


HYDERABAD 


entering  the  precincts,  behold,  in  the  bays  of  the 
thickness  of  the  wall,  a whole  village  where  dwell 
the  families  of  the  soldiers  who  guard  this  citadel. 

An  inner  fortress,  another  portal  held  by  armed 
men,  and  a walled  enclosure,  is  Golconda,  the  former 
capital  of  the  sovereigns  of  the  Deccan.  The 
entrance  is  through  a magnificent  archway  of 
gigantic  proportions ; to  close  it  there  are  two  gates 
of  heavy  wood  studded  all  over  with  long  iron 
spikes,  against  which,  during  a siege,  elephants 
charged  to  their  death. 

All  round  the  Royal  Hill  ancient  buildings  are 
piled  in  stages,  the  remains  of  still  majestic  magni- 
ficence. The  thorn-brakes  cover  supporting  walls 
as  broad  as  crenellated  terraces ; fragments  of  light 
and  fantastic  architecture  stand  up  from  amid 
golden  blossoms ; tottering  colonnades  overhang 
tanks,  all  green  at  the  bottom  with  a pool  of 
brackish  water. 

At  an  angle  of  the  stairs  of  violet-tinted  stone, 
which  lead  to  the  summit  of  the  hill,  a tablet  of 
green  marble,  engraved  in  flowing  Arabic  characters, 
remains  uninjured,  the  record  of  the  great  deeds  of 
some  emperor  of  Golconda. 

At  the  top,  facing  two  immense  rocks  that  look 
like  couchant  lions,  there  was  another  palace ; one 

99 


ENCHANTED  INDIA 


wall  alone  is  left  standing ; on  the  creamy  marble  a 
peacock  spreads  its  tail,  carved  into  very  delicate 
sprays  and  flowers. 

The  view  spread  to  the  horizon  of  mauve-pink 
sky,  very  faintly  streaked  with  green.  We  could 
see  the  white  mass  of  Secunderabad,  a town  of 
English  barracks,  at  the  foot  of  chaotic  red-brown 
rocks,  looking  like  the  heaped-up  ruins  of  some 
city  of  the  Titans ; and  among  trees  shrouded  in 
blue  smoke,  Hyderabad,  conspicuous  for  its  two 
mosques — the  tomb  of  the  Empress  and  the  Jumna 
Musjid,  the  mausoleum  of  the  Nizams. 

Further  yet  lay  the  artificial  lake  of  Meer  Alam, 
reflecting  the  palace  of  Baradari  and  the  russet 
plain,  infinite  as  far  as  the  eye  could  reach  towards 
the  north,  where  other  superb  mausoleums  were 
visible  in  their  whiteness. 

At  our  feet  were  the  two  walls,  the  outer  wall 
enclosing  the  palace,  the  gardens,  the  arena,  where 
fights  were  given  between  elephants  and  tigers ; 
the  inner  wall,  ten  metres  high,  built  round  the 
zenana — the  women’s  palace — of  which  even  the 
foundations  have  almost  disappeared  under  the 
overwhelming  vegetation. 

Mystery  broods  over  this  ruined  past;  grandeur 
seemed  to  rise  up  in  the  sunset  glow.  We  went 

100 


HYDERABAD 


down  the  hill,  while  behind  us  a saffron  haze  veiled 
the  Royal  Hill,  effaced  every  detail  of  architecture, 
and  shed  over  all  an  amethystine  halo. 

It  was  melancholy  to  return  under  the  gloomy, 
spreading  banyans,  through  the  dimly  - lighted 
suburbs,  where  the  people  were  still  at  work  and 
selling  their  wares ; and  the  dungeon,  the  dead 
stones,  the  guns  now  for  ever  silenced  and  pointed 
at  vacancy,  were  lost  in  blue  darkness. 

Our  last  evening  at  the  Residency,  where  I had 
spent  days  made  enchanting  by  music. 

The  servant  who  came  to  tell  me  that  dinner  was 
served  went  barefoot,  like  all  native  servants,  in 
spite  of  his  livery — a sash  and  a shoulder-belt 
arranged  over  the  Indian  costume,  and  bearing  the 
arms  of  England,  and  a monogram  placed  in  his 
turban. 

He  appeared  without  a sound,  visible  only  as 
a white  figure,  his  brown  face  lost,  effaced  in  the 
gloom  of  the  dimly-lighted  room.  For  a moment 
I had  a really  uncanny  sensation  at  this  headless 
apparition,  but  in  an  instant  there  was  the  gleam  of 
a row  of  brilliant  teeth,  the  light  in  the  eyes,  and 
the  eternally  smiling  face  of  the  household  coolie. 


101 


ENCHANTED  INDIA 


On  quitting  Hyderabad,  to  the  right  and  left  of 
the  iron  road,  the  landscape  was  for  a long  way 
the  same ; rocks,  that  looked  as  if  they  had  been 
piled  up  and  then  rolled  over,  lay  in  russet  heaps 
among  peaceful  little  blue  lakes  without  number, 
breaking  the  monotony  of  the  wide,  scorched  fields, 
a sheet  of  pure  gold.  At  one  of  the  stations  a 
beggar  was  rattling  his  castanets  furiously,  and 
singing  something  very  lively  and  joyous.  At  the 
end  of  each  verse  he  shouted  an  unexpected  “Ohe!” 
just  like  the  cry  of  a Paris  ragamuffin. 

Here  in  southern  India  the  women  wear  hardly 
any  trinkets,  and  their  garb  consists  of  sarongs 
and  sarees,  so  thin  that  their  shape  is  visible 
through  the  light  stuff.  In  their  hair,  which  is 
knotted  low  on  the  neck,  they  stick  flowers, 
and  occasionally  light  trailing  sprays  fall  down 
on  the  throat.  They  all  have  gold  studs  screwed 
into  the  two  upper  front  teeth ; hideous  are  these 
two  red-gold  teeth  among  the  others,  sound  and 
white  under  young  lips ! 

Then,  on  the  right,  endless  pools  and  rivers ; 
naked  men  were  ploughing  in  the  liquid  mud  and 
splashed  all  over  by  the  oxen  drawing  a light 
wooden  plough,  their  bronze  bodies  caked  ere  long 
with  a carapace  of  dry,  grey  mud. 

102 


HYDERABAD 


The  rice,  lately  sown,  was  sprouting  in  little 
square  plots  of  dazzling  green ; it  was  being  taken 
up  to  transplant  into  enormous  fields  perpetually 
under  water.  All  the  “paddy”  fields  are,  in  fact, 
channelled  with  watercourses,  or  if  they  are  on 
higher  ground,  watered  from  a well.  A long  beam 
is  balanced  over  the  mouth  of  the  well,  and  two 
boys  run  up  and  down  to  lower  and  raise  the 
bucket ; a man  tilts  the  water  into  the  runlets 
out  of  a large  vessel  of  dusky  copper,  or  perhaps 
out  of  a leaky,  dripping  water-skin. 

The  ripe  rice,  in  golden  ears,  is  cut  with  sickles ; 
a row  of  women  in  red  gather  it  into  sheaves,  which 
men  carry  on  their  back,  at  once,  to  the  next  village, 
and  there  it  is  threshed  out  forthwith  on  floors  but 
just  swept. 

And  so,  on  both  sides  of  the  way  there  are  rice- 
fields  without  end ; those  that  were  reaped  yesterday 
are  ploughed  again  to-day. 

As  we  went  further  south  Moslem  tombs  became 
more  and  more  rare ; the  lingam  was  to  be  seen 
here  and  there  among  the  rice-fields : a gross  idol 
made  of  stone  and  looking  like  a landmark,  set 
up  under  a tree  or  sheltered  by  a little  kiosk. 
Soon  temples  of  Vishnu  were  seen,  raising  their 

103 


ENCHANTED  INDIA 


pyramidal  piles  of  ten  stories  to  the  sky.  Amid 
the  cool  shade  of  palms  and  bamboos,  close  to  each 
temple,  was  a fine  tank  with  steps  all  round  it ; and 
surrounded  by  this  magnificence  of  architecture  and 
vegetation  Hindoos  might  all  day  be  seen  bathing, 
dwellers  in  hovels  of  plaster  or  matting,  sometimes 
in  mere  sheds  supported  on  sticks,  within  the  shadow 
of  the  splendid  building  full  of  treasure,  in  which 
the  god  is  enshrined. 

Birds,  green,  red,  black,  and  gold-colour,  fluttered 
gaily  among  the  palms,  the  bamboos  as  tall  as  pine 
trees,  the  baobabs  and  mango  trees ; butterflies  with 
rigid  tails  and  large  wings  beating  in  uncertain 
flight,  floated  over  the  bright  verdure  flecked  with 
sunshine.  Bound  one  pagoda,  towering  over  a 
wretched  village  that  lay  huddled  in  the  shade 
of  its  consecrated  walls,  a proud  procession  of 
stone  bulls  stood  out  against  the  sky,  visible  at  a 
great  distance  in  clear  outline  through  the  heated, 
quivering  air. 

A kind  of  grey  snipe,  as  they  rose  to  fly,  spread 
white  wings  which  made  them  look  like  storks  or 
gulls,  and  then,  dropping  suddenly,  became  dull 
specks  again,  scarcely  distinguishable  on  the  margin 
of  the  tank.  Ibis,  on  the  watch,  with  pretty,  de- 
liberate, cautious  movements,  stood  on  one  leg, 

104 


HYDERABAD 


their  bodies  reflected  in  the  mirror  on  which  lay 
the  lotus  and  the  broad,  frilled  leaves  of  the  water- 
lily,  and  a sort  of  bind-weed  hanging  from  the  edge 
in  festoons  of  small,  arrow-shaped  leaves,  with  a 
crowd  of  tiny  pink  starry  flowers  that  looked  as 
if  they  were  embroidered  on  the  water. 

The  country  was  nowhere  deserted.  Labourers 
in  the  rice-fields  were  transplanting  the  young  seed- 
lings or  watering  the  taller  growth  that  waved  in 
delicate  transparent  verdure.  Or  again,  there  were 
the  watchers  perched  on  their  platforms  in  the 
middle  of  the  fields ; fishermen  pushing  little  nets 
before  them,  fastened  to  triangular  frames,  or  grub- 
bing in  the  mud  in  search  of  shell-fish — small  fresh- 
water mussels,  which  they  carried  away  in  clay  jars 
of  Etruscan  form.  A motley  crowd,  with  animated 
and  graceful  gesticulations ; the  women  red  or  white 
figures  in  fluttering  sarees,  with  flowers  in  their  hair, 
and  a few  glittering  bangles  on  their  arms  ; the 
children  quite  naked,  with  bead  necklaces  and  queer 
charms  of  lead  or  wood  in  their  ears  or  their  nose ; 
the  men  slender  and  active,  wearing  light-coloured 
turbans  made  of  yards  on  yards  of  twisted  muslin, 
their  brown  skin  hidden  only  by  the  langouti  or 
loin-cloth. 

Along  the  line  were  hedges  of  glaucous  aloes,  of 
105 


ENCHANTED  INDIA 


gynerium  all  plumed  with  white,  and  over  every 
plant  an  inextricable  tangle  of  bajci,  its  pink  flowers 
hanging  in  bunches. 

Fields  of  betel  pepper,  broad-leaved  and  fleshy, 
carefully  enclosed  with  matting,  were  watched  over 
by  two  or  even  three  men,  armed  with  heavy  cudgels. 

Under  an  enormous  banyan  tree,  far  from  any 
dwelling,  two  fine  statues  of  an  elephant  and  a 
horse  seemed  to  guard  an  image  of  Siva,  rigidly 
seated,  and  on  his  knees  an  image  of  Parvati,  quite 
small,  and  standing  as  though  about  to  dance. 

Images  of  horses  recurred  at  intervals,  singly,  or 
in  pairs  face  to  face ; and  as  evening  came  on  we 
saw  round  a pagoda  a whole  procession  of  horses  in 
terra-cotta,  some  very  much  injured,  arranged  as  if 
they  were  running  round,  one  after  another,  in 
search  of  the  heads  and  legs  they  had  lost. 

Near  a small  station  oxen  were  filing  slowly  past. 
On  their  heads  were  hoops  hung  with  bells,  and 
little  ornaments  at  the  tips  of  their  horns  dangled 
with  quick  flashes  of  light. 

The  evening  was  exquisitely  calm,  shrouding 
everything  in  rose  - colour,  and  shedding  a light, 
opalescent  golden  haze  on  the  pools  and  streams. 
And  out  of  this  floating  gauze,  in  the  doubtful 
light,  white  figures  seemed  to  emerge  gradually, 

106 


TRICIIINOPOLY 


only  to  vanish  again  in  the  pure,  transparent 
atmosphere  of  the  blue  night. 

Over  the  rice-fields,  in  the  darkness,  danced  a 
maze  of  fire-flies,  quite  tiny,  but  extraordinarily 
bright ; they  whirled  in  endless  streaks  of  flame, 
intangible,  so  fine  that  they  seemed  part  of  the 
air  itself,  crossing  in  a ceaseless  tangle,  faster  and 
faster,  and  then  dying  out  in  diamond  sparks,  very 
softly  twinkling  little  stars  turning  to  silver  in  the 
moonlight. 

Between  the  tracery  of  bamboos,  behind  clumps 
of  cedars  spreading  their  level  plumes  of  fine, 
flexible  needles,  we  still  constantly  saw  the  roofs 
of  temples  involved  in  clouds  of  tiny  phosphor- 
escent sparks  weaving  their  maze  of  light ; and  the 
clang  of  bells  and  drums  fell  on  the  ear. 


TRICHINOPOLY 

High  on  a hill,  one  with  the  rock,  are  built 
the  temples,  up  to  which  is  a flight  of  steps  hewn 
in  the  stone  itself.  At  every  stage,  or  nearly,  are 
little  shrines  with  images  of  Ganesa,  the  elephant- 
headed god,  or  of  Ananta,  the  sacred  serpent, 
decked  with  flowers,  the  mindi  flower,  which  has 

107 


ENCHANTED  INDIA 


a strong  scent  of  pepper.  In  some  places  the 
whole  temple,  as  vast  as  a cathedral,  is  hewn 
out  of  the  hillside ; the  columns  in  elaborate  and 
intricate  patterns,  the  niches  and  altars  wrought 
with  inconceivable  toil  and  patience,  not  a scrap 
added  or  stuck  on.  In  the  dim  distance  is  a huge 
red  statue  of  Siva,  wreathed  with  flowers. 

The  colouring  in  all  these  rock-temples  is  a 
softened  harmony  of  yellow  stone,  hardly  darkened 
in  some  places,  forming  a setting  for  the  gaudier 
tones  of  the  idols,  all  sparkling  with  gold  and 
showy  frippery. 

One  of  these  halls,  almost  at  the  top  of  the 
mount,  accommodated  a school.  The  elder  pupils 
sat  on  stools  by  the  master’s  side ; the  little  ones 
and  the  girls,  in  groups  of  five  or  six,  squatted  on 
mats  in  the  corners ; and  all  the  little  people  were 
very  quiet  in  the  atmosphere  of  sandal-wood  and 
flowers  brought  as  offerings,  read  gravely  out  of 
big  religious  books,  and  listened  to  the  Brahmin 
as,  in  a deep,  resonant  voice,  he  chanted  a sort  of 
strongly-marked  melody.  There  was  scarcely  an 
ornament  on  the  light-coloured  walls,  pierced  with 
deep  windows  showing  foliage  without ; and  among 
the  dead  whiteness  of  the  mats  and  the  school- 
children’s  draperies  there  was  but  one  bright  light, 

108 


TRICHINOPOLY 


the  bell  over  the  pulpit,  surmounted  by  the  sacred 
bull  in  bronze,  of  precious  workmanship. 

From  the  summit  we  looked  down  over  a pano- 
rama of  the  town,  set  out  in  square  blocks  sunk 
in  the  verdure  of  palms,  bamboos,  and  banyans. 
At  our  feet  was  the  cupola  of  the  temple  of  Siva, 
all  gold,  and  covered  with  bosses,  the  edges  of 
the  mouldings  catching  the  sun.  Besides  this  a 
number  of  coloured  domes,  painted  in  pale  shades 
faded  by  the  sunshine,  descended  the  almost 
perpendicular  incline  down  to  the  bazaar,  where 
the  throng  was  beginning  to  stir  like  white  ants, 
of  slow  gait  and  deliberate  gestures,  their  light- 
hued  dhoutis  flitting  about  the  stalls  for  drink 
and  fruit.  Far  away,  beyond  the  bright  green 
rice-fields,  and  against  the  horizon  of  intensely 
blue  hills,  the  rocks  stand  out — French  rocks  and 
Golden  rocks — where  the  treasure  of  the  con- 
quered natives  was  distributed  to  English  soldiers. 
It  might  almost  be  fancied  that  a glow  of  metal 
still  shines  on  the  smooth  stone,  a warm,  yellow 
stone  bathed  in  sunshine. 

A Catholic  church  flanking  the  Jesuit  college 
persistently  sent  up  to  us  the  shrill  tinkle  of  a 
little  bell,  rattling  out  its  quick,  harsh  strokes  like 
a factory  bell  for  workmen. 

109 


ENCHANTED  INDIA 


At  the  bottom  of  the  steps,  almost  in  the 
street,  was  another  school  at  the  entrance  to  a 
temple.  The  children,  in  piercing  tones,  w7ere  all 
spelling  together  under  the  echoing  vault,  a terrible 
noise  which  seemed  to  trouble  nobody. 

On  reaching  the  temple  of  Yislmu,  on  the  very 
threshold,  we  met  an  elephant  marching  in  front 
of  the  Brahmin  priests,  who  were  carrying  water 
in  copper  amphorae  to  bathe  the  idols  withal. 
Musicians  followed  the  elephant,  playing  on  bag- 
pipes, on  a kind  of  little  trumpet,  very  short  and 
shrill -toned,  and  on  drums ; and  the  beast,  with 
its  trunk  swaying  to  right  and  left,  begged  a gift 
for  the  expenses  of  the  temple. 

The  priests  slowly  mounted  the  stairs,  the  music 
died  away  in  echoes  more  and  more  confused, 
ceasing  at  last,  while  the  sacred  animal,  going  off 
to  the  right  at  the  foot  of  the  steps,  disappeared 
into  its  stable. 

In  the  island  of  Srirangam  we  visited  a temple 
to  Vishnu,  enclosed  within  eight  walls,  of  which 
the  three  first  only  contain  any  dwellings.  A 
crowd  of  pilgrims  swarmed  about  the  steps,  w'here 
everything  was  on  sale : little  gods  in  bronze,  in 
painted  marble,  in  clay,  and  in  wood ; paper  for 

110 


TRICHI  NOPOLY 


writing  prayers  on  ; sacred  books ; red  and  white 
face-paints,  such  as  the  worshippers  of  Vishnu  use 
to  mark  their  foreheads  with  a V ; little  baskets  to 
hold  the  colours,  with  three  or  four  divisions, 
and  a mirror  at  the  bottom ; coco-nuts  containing 
kohl ; stuffs  of  every  dye ; religious  pictures, 
artless  indeed,  and  painted  with  laborious  dabs  of 
the  brush  in  the  presence  of  the  customer  ; chromo- 
lithographs from  Europe,  sickeningly  insipid  and 
mawkishly  pretty. 

Eklcas,  and  chigrams  closed  with  thick  curtains, 
came  galloping  past  with  loud  cries  from  within. 
All  was  noise  and  a shifting  of  many  colours, 
seeming  more  foolish  here,  in  this  large  island, 
with  its  deserted  avenues  of  tall  trees,  than 
anywhere  else. 

A portico,  supporting  two  stories  of  an  un- 
finished building,  forms  the  principal  entrance ; 
the  pilasters  are  crowned  with  massive  capitals 
scarcely  rough -hewn  in  the  stone.  This  porch 
alone  gives  an  impression  of  repose,  from  its 
simplicity  of  line  amid  the  medley  of  statues  and 
incongruous  ornaments  loaded  with  strong  colours, 
which,  diminishing  by  degrees,  are  piled  up  to 
form  each  temple,  ending  almost  in  a spire  against 
the  sky.  Vishnu,  reclining  on  the  undulating  rings 
ill 


ENCHANTED  INDIA 


of  Ananta  Sesha  the  god  of  serpents,  whose  name 
is  the  Infinite ; idols  with  human  faces  riding  on 
bulls,  and  elephants,  and  prancing  horses ; terrible 
Kalis  with  two  fists  rammed  into  their  mouth,  and 
six  other  arms  spread  like  open  wings ; Ganesa,  the 
elephant -headed  god,  ponderously  squatting,  his 
hands  folded  over  his  stomach ; Garudha,  the  bird- 
headed god,  ridden  by  Vishnu  when  he  wanders 
through  space ; Hanuman,  the  monkey  god,  perched 
on  a pedestal  in  an  acrobatic  attitude,  the  face 
painted  bright  green ; gods  of  every  size  and  every 
colour  mixed  up  in  a giddy  whirl,  round  and  round 
to  the  very  summit  of  the  structure. 

In  one  of  the  inmost  circles,  a sacred  elephant 
had  gone  must,  breaking  his  ropes,  and  confined 
now  by  only  one  leg.  The  chains  fastened  round 
his  feet  as  soon  as  he  showed  the  first  symptoms 
of  madness  were  lying  broken  in  heaps  on  the 
ground.  The  brute  had  demolished  the  walls  of 
his  stable  and  then  two  sheds  that  happened  to 
be  in  his  way ; now  he  was  stamping  a dance,  every 
muscle  in  incessant  motion,  half  swallowing  his 
trunk,  flinging  straw  in  every  direction,  and  finally 
heaping  it  on  his  head.  A mob  of  people  stood 
gazing  from  a distance,  laughing  at  his  heavy, 
clumsy  movements;  at  the  least  step  forward  they 

112 


TRICHIXOPOLY 


huddled  back  to  fly,  extending  the  circle,  but  still 
staring  at  the  patient.  In  an  adjoining  stable  were 
two  more  elephants  very  well  cared  for,  the  Y 
neatly  painted  in  red  and  white  on  their  trunks, 
quietly  eating  and  turning  round  only  at  the 
bidding  of  the  driver ; but  one  of  them  shed 
tears. 

Inside  the  temple  long  arcades  connect  the 
shrines  sunk  in  the  thickness  of  the  walls,  gloomy 
recesses  with  images  of  Vishnu  and  other  idols ; 
where  the  corridors  or  arcades  cross  each  other 
there  are  vast  halls  witli  a sculptured  roof  supported 
by  thousands  of  columns.  In  one  of  these  halls 
there  is  a chariot  full  of  divinities.  The  wheels, 
the  horses,  the  highly-venerated  images,  are  all  of 
marble  very  delicately  wrought,  and  amazing  after 
the  coarse  caricatures  on  the  outside.  In  the 
courts  again,  under  sheds,  there  are  cars ; one 
of  enormous  size  in  black  wood  carved  with 
innumerable  figures  and  interlacing  patterns ; pen- 
dant ornaments  of  the  same  wood  sway  in  the 
wind.  The  solid  wheels,  without  spokes,  small 
and  having  huge  axles,  seem  made  not  to  turn, 
and  the  shafts,  to  which  a whole  army  of  the 
faithful  harness  themselves  on  the  occasion  of  a 
high  festival,  are  long  and  as  thick  as  masts, 
x 113 


ENCHANTED  INDIA 


Another  car,  past  service,  lay  slowly  rotting  in  a 
corner ; almost  all  its  images  had  vanished,  and 
its  canopy  had  fallen  off;  it  was  almost  completely 
hidden  under  aristolochia  in  blossom. 


MADURA 

Wide  strands  of  golden  sand;  here  and  there 
among  the  rice-fields  the  palms  and  bamboos  are 
less  crowded.  In  the  moist  air,  that  grows  hotter 
and  hotter,  the  daylight  is  blinding,  hardly  tolerable 
through  the  blue  glass  of  the  windows.  Scorched, 
russet  rocks  stand  up  from  the  short  grass,  tremu- 
lous in  the  noontide  heat.  The  cattle,  the  very 
birds,  silent  and  motionless,  have  sought  shelter 
in  the  shade;  all  the  people  have  gone  within 
doors.  And  then,  towards  evening,  in  an  oasis 
of  gigantic  trees,  amid  bamboos  and  feathery  reeds, 
behold  the  huge  temples  of  Madura,  in  sharp  outline 
against  a rosy  sky. 

The  sun  had  just  set,  a violet  haze  was  rising 
and  enwrapping  every  object.  Fires  were  being 
lighted  in  the  villages  on  the  road  to  the  holy 
place.  Tom-toms  were  rattling  in  the  distance, 

114 


MADURA 


and  nearer  at  hand  a vina,  gently  touched  by  an 
invisible  player,  murmured  a tune  on  three  notes. 

The  temples  were  already  closed,  but  my  servant, 
Abibulla,  diverted  the  attention  of  the  gatekeeper, 
and  I stole  unseen  into  the  outer  precincts. 

Within  the  gateway,  carved  all  over  with  foliage 
and  rosettes,  a footway,  paved  with  bright  mosaic, 
leads  to  the  interior  of  the  temple.  All  along  a 
corridor,  enormous  prancing  horses,  mounted  by 
men-at-arms,  support  the  roof  which  is  deeply 
carved  all  over,  and  at  the  foot  of  these  giants  a 
sacred  tank  reflects  the  sky.  In  front  of  us  were 
gaps  of  black  shadow,  and  far,  far  away,  lamps, 
shrouded  in  incense,  were  twinkling  behind  the 
gratings. 

Figures  draped  in  pale  muslins  brushed  past  us, 
hastening  to  the  door.  Flower-sellers,  in  one  of 
the  arcades,  were  hurrying  to  finish  their  garlands ; 
and  suddenly,  close  before  us — a mass  that  looked  as 
if  it  were  part  of  the  temple  itself — an  enormous 
elephant  started  into  sight,  passed  on  and  vanished 
in  the  darkness. 

In  the  depths  of  little  recesses  the  lamps  twinkled 
feebly  before  images  crowned  with  flowers.  At 
the  entrances  to  shrines  little  glass  lamps,  like 
a mysterious  fairy  illumination,  followed  the  lines 

115 


ENCHANTED  INDIA 


of  the  arabesques,  sparkling  like  glowworms, 
without  lighting  up  the  passages  which  remained 
dark,  and  in  which,  in  fact,  we  finally  lost  our- 
selves. 

Near  the  statues,  which  are  placed  in  a row  close 
to  the  wall,  other  statues,  finer,  slenderer,  and  more 
graceful,  stood  before  the  pedestals,  anointing  the 
stone  with  some  oil  which  in  time  soaks  in  and 
blackens  it,  or  else  hanging  lanterns  up  over  the 
divinities.  These  were  the  temple  servants,  wearing 
nothing  hut  the  langouti  tied  round  their  loins; 
they  either  shuffle  about  barefoot,  or  remain  motion- 
less in  rapt  ecstasy  before  the  little  niches  where 
the  idols  grin  or  scowl  among  branches  of  roses 
and  amaryllis. 

In  one  brilliantly-lighted  hall,  priests,  dressed  in 
long  yellow  dalmatics,  were  adoring  idols,  elephants, 
Anantas ; and  from  an  enormous  gold  lotus  sprang 
the  Mandeel,  rising  through  the  dome,  its  tip  stand- 
ins  in  the  outer  air  to  bear  the  white  flag  that  is 
hoisted  on  high  festivals.  At  the  entrance  to  this 
shrine  parrots  in  cages  suddenly  set  up  a hostile 
outcry  as  I passed  them,  and  were  only  pacified 
by  the  coming  of  a priest,  who  gave  them  some 
food.  The  clatter,  however,  had  attracted  other 
Brahmins ; one  of  them  desired  me  to  leave,  “ and 

116 


MADURA 


at  once.”  I declined  to  obey,  so  lie  sent  for  the 
elephant  who  does  duty  as  police,  to  turn  me  out. 

And  as  the  priests  knew  that  the  beast  would 
need  no  help  they  again  left  me  to  myself.  Up 
came  the  elephant  at  a brisk  trot,  flourishing  his 
trunk  and  hooting ; within  two  yards  of  me  he 
stopped  and  stood  still.  He  accepted  a four-anna 
piece  that  I offered  him,  and  handed  it  up  for  his 
driver,  but  finding  no  one  on  his  back  he  put  the 
coin  back  into  my  pocket,  and  sniffing  all  over 
my  coat  found  a biscuit,  ate  it,  and  then  quietly 
went  back  to  his  stable. 

A muffled  sound  of  instruments,  mingling  in 
confusion  in  the  myriad  echoes,  came  dying  on 
my  ear,  hardly  audible.  A gleam  of  light  flashed 
in  the  corridor  and  then  went  out.  Then  some 
lights  seemed  to  be  coming  towards  me,  and 
again  all  was  gloom.  An  orchestra  of  bagpipes, 
of  kcmcinches  and  darboukhas  sounded  close  by  me, 
and  then  was  lost  in  the  distance,  and  the  phantas- 
magoria of  lights  still  went  on.  At  last,  at  the 
further  end  of  the  arcade  where  I was  standing, 
two  men  raised  green-flamed  torches  at  the  end 
of  long  poles,  followed  by  two  drummers  and 
musicians  playing  on  bagpipes  and  viols.  Children 
squatting  on  the  ground  lighted  coloured  fire  that 
117 


ENCHANTED  INDIA 


made  a bright  blaze,  and  died  out  in  stifling  smoke, 
shrouding  the  priests — a cloud  hardly  tinted  by  the 
torches. 

A golden  mass,  an  enormous  shrine  chased  all 
over  and  starred  with  tapers,  now  came  forward, 
borne  by  a score  of  naked  men.  Against  the  gold 
background,  in  a perfect  glory  of  diamonds  and 
pearls,  sat  Vishnu,  decked  out  with  flowers  and 
jewels,  his  head  bare  with  a huge  brilliant  in  his 
forehead. 

The  music  played  louder,  light  flashed  out  on  all 
sides,  the  god  stood  still,  and  bayaderes  performed 
their  worship.  With  slow  gestures,  their  hands 
first  hollowed  and  held  to  the  brow,  then  their 
arms  flung  out,  they  bowed  before  the  idol  with 
a snake-like,  gliding  motion,  while  the  music  played 
very  softly  and  the  lights  burnt  faintly.  The 
jiauchnees,  in  dark  muslin  drapery  spangled  with 
gold,  bangles  on  their  arms,  their  necks,  and  their 
ankles,  and  rings  on  their  toes,  swayed  as  they 
danced,  and  swung  long,  light  garlands  of  flowers 
which  hung  about  their  necks.  And  there  were 
flowers  in  their  hair,  in  a bunch  on  each  side  of 
the  head,  above  two  gold  plates  from  which  hung 
strings  of  beads.  The  flying,  impalpable  gauze 
looked  like  a swirl  of  mist  about  their  limbs. 


118 


MADURA 


Very  gradually  the  measure  quickened,  the  pitch 
grew  shriller,  and  with  faster  and  freer  movements 
the  bayaderes  were  almost  leaping  in  a sort  of 
delirium  produced  by  the  increasing  noise,  and  the 
constantly  growing  number  of  lights. 

Then,  in  a blaze  of  coloured  fire,  a fortissimo  of 
music,  and  a whirlwind  of  drapery,  they  stopped 
exhausted  in  front  of  the  idol.  The  lights  were 
put  out,  the  tom-toms  were  the  only  sound,  and 
the  procession  moved  on,  escorting  the  shrine  which 
glittered  for  some  time  yet,  till  it  disappeared  at 
an  angle,  leaving  the  temple  in  darkness  just  tinted 
blue  by  the  moon. 

A different  scene  indeed  next  day,  with  none  of 
the  magnificence  of  yesterday,  was  the  temple  of 
magical  lights.  There  was  a dense  crowd  of  shout- 
ing and  begging  pilgrims.  Along  the  pyramidal 
roofs,  as  at  Srirangam,  there  were  rows  of  painted 
gods,  but  in  softer  and  more  harmonious  hues. 
Over  the  tank  for  ablutions  was  a balcony  decorated 
in  fresco,  representing  in  very  artless  imagery  the 
marriage  of  Siva  and  Parvati.  The  couple  are  seen 
holding  hands  under  a tree ; he  a martial  figure, 
very  upright,  she  looking  silly,  her  lips  pursed, 
an  ingenue.  In  another  place  Siva  sits  with  his 

119 


ENCHANTED  INDIA 


wife  on  his  knees,  she  has  still  the  same  school-girl 
expression.  Finally,  on  the  ceiling,  is  their  apothe- 
osis : they  are  enthroned  with  all  the  gods  of 
Ramayana  around  them,  and  she  looks  just  the 
same.  The  red  and  green,  subdued  by  the  re- 
flected light  from  the  water,  were  almost  en- 
durable. 

Immediately  on  entering  we  were  in  the  maze  of 
vaults,  sanctuaries,  great  halls  and  arcades,  where 
stall-keepers  sell  their  goods,  priests  keep  school, 
and  flower-sellers  wander.  Statues,  repeated  in  long 
rows,  lead  up  to  temples  all  alike,  of  a bewildering 
uniformity  of  architecture  and  identical  decoration. 

Elephants,  freshly  painted,  go  past  begging. 

Making  my  way  among  the  too  numerous  gods  in 
relief  against  the  overwrought  walls  heavy  with 
carving,  I came  to  a wonderful  balcony  where,  in 
broken  cages,  I found  the  parrots  that  had  betrayed 
me,  and  among  them  an  exquisite  pale  yellow 
cockatoo  of  great  rarity. 

One  after  another  I made  my  salaam  to  Siva, 
seated  on  a peacock ; to  Ganesa,  looking  calm  and 
knowing ; to  Parvati,  riding  a bull ; to  Siva  again, 
this  time  pinning  a dragon  to  the  ground  with  a 
fork,  a writhing  reptile  with  gaping  jaws  and  out- 
spread wings ; the  same  god  again,  with  a child  in 

120 


MADURA 


his  arms ; and  again,  holding  his  leg  like  a musket 
up  against  his  shoulder  with  one  of  his  four  hands, 
the  other  three  lifting  a bull,  a sceptre,  and  a trophy 
of  weapons  above  his  head. 

In  a central  space  was  a hideous  rajah,  a bene- 
factor, with  his  six  wives,  all  gaudily  coloured  with 
jewels  in  coloured  paper  stuck  on  to  the  images,  and 
all  kneeling  in  attitudes  of  idiotic  ecstasy,  doubly 
absurd  under  the  daubing  of  vermilion  and  indigo. 
These  were  greatly  admired  by  my  servant,  a con- 
vinced connoisseur  in  Indian  art.  Further  on  we 
saw,  on  the  ceiling  of  a polychrome  corridor,  monsters 
carved  to  fit  the  shape  of  squared  beams  ending  in  a 
griffin’s  or  a bird’s  head. 

In  a dirty  stable,  strewn  with  withered  plants, 
stood  some  forlorn,  sickly-looking  beasts,  the  sacred 
bulls  of  Madura. 

Here  again  the  cars  of  the  gods  were  neglected  in 
the  open  air,  and  one  of  them,  older  than  the  rest, 
was  fast  being  transfigured  into  a pyramid  of  shrubs 
and  flowers. 

Two  men  were  quarrelling ; one  had  robbed  the 
other.  The  dispute  went  on  endlessly,  and  no  one, 
not  the  priest  even,  had  succeeded  in  pacifying  them. 
At  last  an  elephant  was  fetched ; he  came  up  with- 
out being  noticed  by  the  disputants,  and  trumpeted 
121 


ENCHANTED  INDIA 


loudly  just  behind  them.  The  thief,  convinced  that 
the  animal  in  its  wisdom  had  discovered  his  crime, 
took  to  his  heels  and  fled. 

In  the  afternoon,  while  it  was  still  broad  daylight 
and  very  bright  outside,  it  was  already  dusk  under 
the  arches  of  the  temple,  and  bats  were  flitting 
about. 

And  under  an  arcade  priests  were  hanging  the 
shrine  with  wreaths  of  pink  and  yellow  flowers,  in 
preparation  for  its  nocturnal  progress,  while  an  old 
woman,  all  alone,  was  bathing  in  the  tank,  with 
much  splashing  and  noise  of  waters. 

The  old  palace  of  the  kings  is  now  yellow-ochre, 
coated  wdth  plaster  and  lime-wash  over  the  splendid 
antique  marble  walls. 

The  rajah’s  sleeping-room  has  at  one  end  a dais 
ascended  by  three  steps ; here  the  sovereign’s  bed 
used  to  be  spread ; and  here,  now,  the  judges  of  the 
Supreme  Court  have  their  seats.  In  the  middle  of 
the  room  was  a confused  array  of  benches  and  tables, 
and  against  the  walls,  also  washed  with  yellow,  hung 
a series  of  portraits  of  bewigged  worthies. 

From  the  roof,  consisting  of  terraces  between 
cupolas,  there  is  a view  of  many  temples  glorified 
in  the  golden  sunset,  and  nearer  at  hand  stand  ten 

122 


COLOMBO 


imposing  columns,  very  tall — the  last  remaining 
vestiges  of  the  rajah’s  elephant-house. 


TUTICORIN 

A desolate  strand,  all  the  vegetation  burnt  by  the 
sun  and  the  sea-breeze.  The  pearl-oyster,  which 
made  the  fortune  of  the  district,  disappeared  four 
years  since,  and  has  migrated  to  other  parts.  The 
fisheries  no  longer  pay,  and  the  boats  are  dropping 
to  pieces  on  the  beach,  while  the  divers  beg,  deci- 
mated by  want. 

An  old  man  who  sold  us  some  shells,  had,  in  the 
days  of  prosperity,  made  a little  fortune  by  charm- 
ing the  sharks  with  spells  and  signs  that  kept  them 
away  from  the  boats,  and  from  the  naked  and 
defenceless  pearl-fishers  as  they  plunged  into  the 
deep  to  seek  the  precious  shells. 


COLOMBO 

A port  crowded  with  steamers  taking  in  coal,  and 
very  light  barks  high  out  of  the  water,  kept  in 
equilibrium  by  parallel  outriggers  at  the  ends  of 
two  flexible  spars.  These  crank  boats,  made  of 

123 


ENCHANTED  INDIA 


planks  that  scarcely  overlap,  were  piled  with  lug- 
gage, and  the  boatmen  jostle  and  turn  and  skim 
close  under  the  fast -steaming  transatlantic  liners, 
amid  a bewildering  babel  of  shouts  and  oaths, 
under  a sun  hot  enough  to  melt  lead. 

On  the  landing-stage  we  read  in  large  letters : 
“ Beware  of  sunstroke,”  and  lower  down,  “ Avoid 
it  by  buying  the  best  umbrellas  and  the  best  pith 
helmets  of  John  Dash.”  The  streets  are  the 
commonplace  highways  of  a commercial  town ; 
the  houses  tall,  with  shops  below.  Dust  and  light 
alike  were  blinding ; jinrickshaws  were  passing  to 
and  fro,  drawn  by  almost  naked  coolies  running 
as  fast  as  horses. 

The  Cingalese  women,  of  languid  gait,  wear  a 
long  dark  robe  clinging  about  their  legs  and 
reaching  to  the  ground.  The  poorer  women  have 
only  a scanty  saree  to  complete  the  costume ; the 
more  wealthy  display  stockings  and  boots ; a white 
bodice  cut  low,  with  open  sleeves  and  no  basque 
leaves  a roll  of  skin  visible  between  the  skirt  and 
the  bodice.  The  men  wear  a long  loin-cloth  of 
English  trouser-stuff,  a white  jacket  buttoned  over 
the  bare  skin,  and  a twist  of  back  hair  like  a 
woman’s,  in  which  they  stick  a celluloid  comb, 
coronet-fashion — such  a comb  as  is  used  in  Europe 

124 


KANDY 


to  keep  the  hair  hack  from  a child’s  forehead.  And 
all  the  race  are  too  slender,  too  pliant,  their  eyes 
too  long  and  slightly  darkened  with  kohl ; the  boys 
especially  have  an  unpleasant,  ambiguous  look. 

In  every  shop  of  the  High  Street  jewellers  are  on 
the  look-out  for  customers,  hale  them  in,  tease  them 
to  buy,  and  open  for  inspection  little  bags  or  card- 
board boxes  kept  in  safes,  and  containing  the  finest 
sapphires  in  the  world.  The  day  slips  by  in  bargain- 
ing for  the  gems,  in  endless  discussions  and  feigned 
departures.  The  indefatigable  vendors  return  to 
the  charge,  run  after  the  customer,  wait  for  him  at 
the  door  of  a rival  dealer,  and  drag  him  back  again. 
Then  there  is  a fresh  dispute  over  prices,  till  irre- 
sistible argument  at  last  brings  down  the  estimates 
to  a third  or  a quarter  of  what  they  were  at  starting. 


KANDY 

Inland  from  Colombo  it  is  pure  enchantment  to 
travel  among  the  rich  and  tangled  vegetation  of 
every  shade  of  green  that  grows  by  the  margins  of 
the  pools,  the  rivers,  and  the  rice-fields.  At  first, 
skirting  the  shallows,  where  men,  standing  to  their 
waists  in  water,  were  fishing  with  large  nets  which 

125 


ENCHANTED  INDIA 


they  managed  but  clumsily,  the  flat  banks  are  over- 
grown with  anthuriums,  their  broad  leaves  of  dark 
velvet  or  of  light  gauze  splashed  with  rose  and 
white,  mirrored  in  the  channels  that  form  a network 
to  irrigate  the  rice-swamps.  Then  ferns,  bamboos, 
and  feathery  reeds  in  every  varying  shade  of  gold ; 
creepers  clinging  to  the  trunks  of  coco  trees  or 
phoenix-palms  bear  bunches  of  pink  or  yellow 
blossoms  between  the  palm-leaves,  invading  every- 
thing with  their  luxuriance,  and  forming  a gaudy 
undergrowth  below  the  tall  trees — a light  but  im- 
penetrable thicket  where  the  sun  casts  warm  purple 
shadows. 

Higher  on  the  hills,  amid  the  rich  bright  verdure 
of  the  tea-plantations,  we  find  magnolias,  pines,  and 
the  Campeachy  medlar,  all  wreathed  with  climbing 
plants  and  invaded  by  the  young  growth  of  palms, 
by  rattans  which  have  succeeded  in  piercing  the 
awning  of  parasites  that  hangs,  starred  with  flowers, 
from  tree  to  tree — flowers  like  lamps  shining  among 
the  ripe  coco-nuts,  mango  fruit,  and  papaws. 

Beyond  a wide  valley  that  lay  far  beneath  us  a 
mountain-range  gleamed  softly  in  the  blue  distance, 
starry  and  sapphire-hued  above  rising  levels  of 
delicate  green.  Here,  in  the  fresher  air,  floated  the 
fragrance  of  mosses  and  alpine  flowers,  and  above  the 

126 


KANDY 


cascades  falling  in  showers  we  could  see  the  tangle 
of  climbing  plants,  ferns,  orchids,  and  hibiscus,  a 
swaying  curtain  all  woven  of  leaves  and  blossoms. 

A plantation  of  theobromas  (cacao),  carefully  en- 
closed and  tended,  with  their  puckered  leaves,  and 
fruit-pods  as  large  as  an  ostrich  egg  hanging  from 
the  trunk  and  the  larger  branches,  seemed  quite 
melancholy,  like  wild  things  tethered. 

Then  some  gardens  looking  like  hothouses,  con- 
cealing bungalows,  and  a gleaming  lake  among  the 
greenery — and  this  was  Kandy. 

In  front  of  a Buddhist  temple  were  some  tanks  in 
which  enormous  tortoises  were  swimming.  On  the 
building,  above  carvings  of  elephants  in  relief  on  the 
stone,  were  a number  of  mural  paintings,  artless 
and  terrible  scenes  set  forth  with  the  utmost  scorn 
of  perspective  and  chiaroscuro : a place  of  torment 
where  green  monsters  thrust  the  damned  against 
trees  of  which  the  trunks  are  saws,  and  enormous 
red  and  yellow  birds  devour  living  victims. 

Inside  the  temple  was  the  fragrance  of  fresh 
flowers,  brought  as  offerings,  with  grains  of  rice 
threaded  like  semi-transparent  beads  on  the  flexible 
pale  green  stem.  A huge  Buddha  here,  of  many- 
coloured  stones  bedizened  with  gold,  gleams  in  the 

127 


ENCHANTED  INDIA 


shade  of  the  altar,  and  two  bonzes  in  front  of  the 
idol  were  quarrelling  at  great  length,  with  screams 
like  angry  cats  and  vehement  gesticulations,  for  the 
possession  of  some  small  object  which  constantly 
passed  from  one  to  the  other. 

Adjacent  to  this  temple  was  the  court-house,  a 
hall  of  ancient  splendour  in  the  time  of  the  kings 
of  Kandy.  It  stood  wide  open,  the  walls  lined  with 
carved  wood  panels.  The  court  was  sitting  under  the 
punkhas  that  swung  with  regular  monotony,  the 
judges  robed  in  red.  One  of  the  accused,  standing  in 
a sort  of  pen,  listened  unmoved  to  the  pleading.  A 
large  label  bearing  the  number  5 hung  over  his 
breast.  Behind  a barrier  stood  other  natives,  each 
decorated  with  a number,  under  the  charge  of 
sepoys.  One  of  them,  having  been  wounded  in 
the  murderous  fray  for  which  they  were  being 
tried,  lay  at  full  length  on  a litter  covered  with 
pretty  matting,  red  and  white  and  green,  stretched 
on  bamboo  legs.  A long  robe  of  light  silk  enveloped 
his  legs,  and  he  alone  of  them  all  had  charming 
features,  long  black  eyes  with  dark  blue  depths, 
his  face  framed  in  a sort  of  halo  of  silky,  tangled 
hair.  He,  like  the  man  now  being  sentenced  and 
those  who  had  gone  through  their  examination, 

128 


KANDY 


seemed  quite  indifferent  to  the  judges  and  the 
lawyers.  He  mildly  waved  a palm  leaf  which 
served  him  as  a fan,  and  looked  as  if  he  were 
listening  to  voices  in  a dream,  very  far  away. 

An  interpreter  translated  to  the  accused  the 
questions  put  by  the  judge,  who  understood  the 
replies,  though  he  was  not  allowed  to  speak  ex- 
cepting in  English. 

Then  a fat  native  lawyer  began  to  speak,  and 
silence  fell  on  the  crowd  of  three  or  four  hundred 
listeners  sitting  behind  the  accused,  as  if  they  were 
in  church.  The  monotonous  voice  went  on  and  on, 
urging  every  plea. 

Even  more  than  the  assembly  of  their  relatives 
and  friends,  the  prisoners  at  the  bar  maintained  the 
impassive  mien  of  men  who  attach  no  disgrace  to 
a sentence  pronounced  by  a conquering  race ; they 
would  take  the  penalty  without  a murmur,  as  one 
of  the  inevitable  incidents  of  this  life,  which  to  them 
is  but  a stage,  a passage  to  a higher  existence. 

The  song  of  birds  in  the  mitigated  atmosphere  of 
the  dying  day  came  in  from  outside,  for  a moment 
almost  drowning  the  pleader’s  weariful  tones  as  he 
poured  forth  his  statement,  emphasized  by  sweeping 
gestures. 


K 


129 


ENCHANTED  INDIA 


In  the  mystery  of  a polychrome  temple,  whose 
walls  are  closely  covered  with  sculptured  bas- 
reliefs  of  gods  in  the  shape  of  men  or  animals,  is 
a relic,  the  sacred  tooth  of  Buddha ; and  all  about 
the  precious  object,  which  is  enclosed  in  a series 
of  shrines  within  impenetrable  walls,  there  is  no 
sign  of  respect,  but  all  the  noise  and  bustle  of  a 
fair,  a perfect  turmoil  of  hurrying,  chattering  folk, 
whose  only  anxiety  is  to  keep  unbelievers  away 
from  the  sacred  spot. 

The  forest  round  Kandy  is  glorious,  an  exuber- 
ance, a crush  of  trees  growing  as  thick  as  they  can 
stand,  the  dense  tangle  of  boughs  and  leaves  out- 
grown by  some  enormous  ficus,  or  tall  terminalia, 
whose  sharp,  angular  roots  have  pushed  through  the 
soil  while  its  trunk,  twisting  in  a spiral,  has  made 
its  way  to  a prodigious  height,  ending  a thick  dome 
of  foliage.  This,  again,  is  overgrown  by  delicate 
creepers  decking  the  green  mass  with  their  flowers. 
Spreading  banyans,  with  a hundred  stems  thrown 
out  like  branches  and  ending  in  roots,  form  colon- 
nades of  a rosy  grey  hue  like  granite,  and  might 
seem  to  be  the  vestiges  of  some  colossal  church 
with  a dark  vault  above,  scarcely  pierced  here 
and  there  by  a gleam  of  blue  light  from  the  sky 
beyond.  Among  these  giants  of  the  forest  dwells  a 
130 


KANDY 


whole  nation  of  bending  ferns  as  pliant  as  feathers, 
of  clinging  plants  hanging  in  dainty  curtains  of 
flowers  from  tree  to  tree.  Sometimes  between  the 
screen  of  flowers  a bit  of  road  comes  into  view,  deep 
in  impalpable  brick-red  dust,  of  the  same  tint  as  the 
fruits  that  hang  in  branches  from  the  trees. 

A kind  of  lemon  plant,  with  picotee-like  flowers 
of  a texture  like  crystalline  pearl,  its  petals  deli- 
cately fringed,  exhales  a fresh  scent  like  verbena. 
Then,  on  an  ebony-tree,  overgrown  with  succulent 
leaves  forming  an  edging  to  every  bough,  is  a bird 
— as  it  would  seem — a lilac  bird,  with  open  wings, 
which,  as  we  approach,  turns  into  an  orchid. 

Above  a large  fan  - palm  the  pale  fronds  of  a 
talipot  soar  towards  the  sky,  gracefully  recurved 
like  enormous  ostrich  plumes.  A fluff,  a down,  of 
flowers  clings  to  the  stems  of  the  magnificent  crest, 
a delicate  pale  cloud ; and  the  broad  leaves  of  the 
tree,  which  will  die  when  it  has  blossomed,  are 
already  withering  and  drooping  on  the  crown. 
Then,  in  the  clearings  made  by  the  recent  decay 
of  such  a giant,  falling  where  it  had  stood,  and 
crushing  the  bamboos  and  plicenix  that  grew  round 
its  foot,  the  flowers  sprang  in  myriads — great  sun- 
flowers, shrubs  of  poinsettia,  with  its  tufts  of  red 

or  white  bracts  at  the  end  of  a branch  of  green 

131 


ENCHANTED  INDIA 


leaves,  surrounding  a small  inconspicuous  blossom, 
and  tall,  lavender-blue  lilies. 

There  was  not  a sound,  not  a bird,  excepting 
on  the  fringe  of  the  forest.  As  we  penetrated 
further  there  soon  was  no  undergrowth  even  on 
the  dry  soil,  between  the  ever  closer  array  of 
trees ; the  creepers  hung  very  low,  tangled  with 
clinging  parasites ; and  between  the  stilt-like  and 
twining  roots  and  the  drooping  houghs,  the  path, 
now  impracticable,  suddenly  ended  in  face  of  the 
total  silence  and  black  shade  that  exhaled  a strong 
smell  of  pepper,  while  not  a leaf  stirred. 

Colombo  again ; and  again  the  jewellers  and 
their  blue  stones — an  intoxicating,  living  blue. 

In  the  harbour,  where  there  was  a light  breeze 
blowing,  the  little  outrigged  canoes  had  hoisted 
large  sails,  white  edged  with  black,  and  vanished 
into  the  distance,  skimming  like  winged  things  over 
the  intensely  blue  water. 

Men  were  carrying  mud  in  enormous  turtle-shells 
that  they  used  for  baskets. 

Little  beggar-girls  with  a depraved  look,  artful 
little  hussies,  pursued  us  coaxingly : “ Give  some- 
thing, sahib,  to  pretty  Cingalee  girl,  who  wants  to 
go  over  sea  to  where  the  gentlemens  live.” 

132 


MADRAS 


MADRAS 

The  city  produces  an  impression  as  of  a town 
built  in  the  clouds  and  then  dropped,  scattered 
over  the  plain  with  vast  arid  and  barren  spaces 
left  between  the  houses.  In  the  native  and 
Moslem  quarters,  indeed,  there  is  a crowd  of 
buildings,  closely  packed,  crammed  together  on 
quite  a small  plot  of  ground ; and  among  them 
the  electric  tramway  runs  its  cars,  useless  just 
now,  and  empty  of  travellers,  for  it  is  the 
beginning  of  Ramadan,  and  the  Mohammedans  in 
broad  daylight  are  letting  off  crackers  in  honour 
of  the  festival. 

In  the  hotel  compound — more  absurd  than  all 
the  rest,  lost  in  a waste  of  open  land  beyond  the 
seething  native  town  — there  was  a swarm  of 
coolie  servants,  their  wives  and  their  children, 
who  played  all  day  at  climbing  about  the  coaches 
put  up  under  the  trees.  And,  without  ceasing, 
a maddening  hubbub  of  laughter  and  crying  came 
up  from  this  litter  of  brats,  more  weariful  than 
the  silence  of  vacancy  all  around. 

The  draught-oxen  all  had  their  horns  painted 
133 


ENCHANTED  INDIA 


in  gaudy  colours,  generally  one  horn  blue  and  the 
other  green. 

In  the  evening,  in  the  open  street,  we  came  upon 
a circle  of  bystanders  all  beating  time,  while  in  the 
midst  four  little  girls  were  dancing,  wearing  the 
sarong,  but  naked  to  the  waist.  They  leaned  very 
much  over  to  the  right,  resting  the  right  elbow  on 
the  groin,  clapping  the  right  hand  with  the  left,  and 
throwing  back  the  left  leg.  All  four  did  the  same, 
round  and  round,  and  this  went  on  again  and  again 
without  a pause,  under  the  pale  light  of  the  stars 
filtering  through  an  enormous  banyan  tree.  Occa- 
sionally a woman  among  the  crowd  would  give 
a slow,  long-drawn  cry,  and  the  dancers  answered 
in  very  short  notes,  piercingly  shrill. 

In  the  native  town,  on  a tank  in  front  of  a 
temple,  a raft  was  moving  very  slowly.  Under  a 
dazzlingly  gorgeous  canopy  stood  an  idol  of  gold, 
covered  with  garlands  and  jewels.  A dense  crowd, 
white  and  fragrant  with  jasmine  and  sandal-wood, 
stood  about  the  sacred  pool  and  on  the  steps,  and 
bowed  reverently  as  the  divinity  floated  past. 

One  old  man,  indeed,  bowed  so  low  that  he  fell 
into  the  water,  and  all  the  worshippers  shouted 
with  laughter. 

The  streets  were  hung  with  gaudy  flags  and 
134 


MADRAS 


coloured  paper.  Altars  had  been  erected,  four 
poles  supporting  an  awning  with  flounces  of 
bright-coloured  silk,  and  under  them  a quantity 
of  idols,  of  vases  filled  with  amaryllis  and  roses, 
and  even  dainty  little  Dresden  figures — exquisite 
curtseying  Marquises,  quite  out  of  their  element 
among  writhing  Vishnus  and  Kalis. 

That  evening,  near  the  temple  where  the  god, 
having  left  the  tank,  was  receiving  the  flowers 
and  scents  offered  by  his  votaries,  there  was  howl- 
ing and  yelling  from  the  crowd  of  Hindoos,  all 
crushing  and  pushing,  but  going  nowhere.  And 
louder  yet  the  noise  of  the  tom-toms,  which  the 
musicians  raised  to  the  desired  pitch  by  warming 
them  in  front  of  big  fires  throwing  off  clouds  of 
acrid  smoke. 

In  one  tent  there  was  a display  of  innumerable 
gilt  images,  very  suggestive  of  Jesuit  influence  — 
mincing,  chubby  angels,  martyrs  carrying  palm- 
branches,  and  ecstatic  virgins  with  clasped  hands, 
all  serving  to  decorate  the  shrine  in  which  the 
god  was  to  be  carried  back  to  the  temple.  Coloured 
fires  lighted  the  workmen,  and  in  the  background 
the  temple  was  darkly  visible,  with  only  a few 
dim  lamps  shrouded  in  incense,  and  burning  before 
Rama,  whose  festival  was  being  kept. 

135 


ENCHANTED  INDIA 


The  god  having  been  placed  in  the  shrine,  which 
was  enormously  heavy,  and  took  a hundred  men  to 
carry  it,  the  procession  set  out.  First  two  drums, 
then  some  children  burning  coloured  fire  and  whirl- 
ing fireworks  round  above  their  heads.  Three  oxen 
with  housings  of  velvet,  richly  embroidered  in  gold, 
carried  tom-tom  drummers,  and  behind  them  came 
the  priests  and  the  god,  hardly  visible  among  the 
lights  and  flowers  on  the  shrine.  A breath  of  awe 
fell  on  the  crowd  as  the  divinity  came  by ; they 
bowed  in  adoration  with  clasped  hands  and  heads 
bent  very  low. 

To  light  the  way,  coolies  carried  long  iron  tridents 
tipped  with  balls  of  tow  soaked  in  oil.  The  mass 
moved  slowly  forward  through  the  people,  suddenly 
soothed  to  silence.  The  procession  paused  at  the 
wayside  altars,  and  then,  in  the  middle  of  a circle 
formed  by  the  torch-bearers  and  coloured  lights,  the 
sacred  bayaderes  appeared — three  girls  with  bare 
heads,  dressed  in  stiff  new  sarongs  heavy  with 
tinkling  trinkets,  and  an  old  woman  crowned  with 
a sort  of  very  tall  cylindrical  tiara  of  red  velvet 
embroidered  with  gold.  Very  sweet-toned  bagpipes 
and  some  darboukhas  played  a slow  tune,  and  the 
dancers  began  to  move ; they  spun  slowly  round, 
their  arms  held  out,  their  bodies  kept  rigid,  except- 

136 


MADRAS 


ing  when  they  bowed  to  the  shrine.  The  crude 
light  of  the  red  fire  or  the  sulphurous  flare  of  the 
torches  fell  on  their  glittering  ornaments,  alter- 
nately festive  and  mysterious,  shedding  over  the 
performance  an  atmosphere  at  once  dreamy  and 
magically  gorgeous. 

Then  all  went  out,  died  gently  away ; the  tom- 
toms and  pipe  attending  the  god’s  progress  alone 
were  audible  in  the  silence ; till  in  the  distance 
a great  blaze  of  light  flashed  out,  showing  a crowd 
of  bright  turbans  and  the  glittering  splendour  of 
the  shrine  going  up  the  steps  to  the  temple  where, 
till  next  year,  Kama  would  remain — the  exiled  god, 
worshipped  for  his  wisdom  which  enabled  him  to 
discover  the  secrets,  to  find  the  true  path,  and  win 
the  forgiveness  of  his  father. 

The  doors  were  shut ; all  was  silence — the  still- 
ness of  the  star-lit  night. 

Many  hapless  creatures  here  suffer  from  elephan- 
tiasis, and  even  quite  little  children  are  to  be  seen 
with  an  ankle  stiffened,  or  perhaps  both  the  joints 
ossified;  and  the  whole  limb  will  by-and-by  be 
swollen  by  the  disease,  a monstrous  mass  dreadfully 
heavy  to  drag  about.  Other  forms  of  lupus  affect 
the  face,  and  almost  always,  amid  a crowd  watching 
137 


ENCHANTED  INDIA 


some  amusing  performance,  a head  suddenly  appears 
of  ivory  whiteness,  the  skin  clinging  to  the  bone  or 
disfigured  by  bleeding  sores. 

Steaming  over  the  transparent  and  intensely  blue 
sea,  we  presently  perceived  an  opaquer  streak  of 
sandy  matter,  getting  denser,  and  becoming  at  last 
liquid,  extremely  liquid,  yellow  mud — the  waters 
of  the  Ganges,  long  before  land  was  in  sight. 
Between  the  low  banks,  with  their  inconspicuous 
vegetation,  a desolate  shore,  we  could  have  fancied 
we  were  still  at  sea  when  we  had  already  reached 
the  mouth  of  the  sacred  stream.  Some  Hindoos  on 
board  drew  up  the  water  in  pails  to  wash  their 
hands  and  face,  fixing  their  eyes  in  adoration  on 
the  thick  sandy  fluid.  Enormous  steamships 
crossed  our  bows,  and  in  the  distance,  like  a flock 
of  Ibis,  skimmed  a whole  flotilla  of  boats  with 
broad  red  sails,  through  which  the  low  sun  was 
shining.  The  banks  closed  in,  the  landscape  grew 
more  definite  — tall  palm  trees,  plots  of  garden 
ground,  factory  chimneys,  a high  tower.  On  the 
water  was  an  inextricable  confusion  of  canoes  and 
row-boats  flitting  among  the  steamships  and  sailing 
barks  moored  all  along  the  town  that  stretched 
away  out  of  sight. 


138 


CALCUTTA 


CALCUTTA 

An  aggressive  capital ! Palaces  of  concrete  and 
stucco  washed  with  yellow  stand  cheek  by  jowl 
with  commission  agencies  and  hovels,  and  all  with- 
out a suspicion  of  style,  not  even  giving  one  the 
impression  of  a southern  city.  In  the  streets,  thick 
with  dust,  an  all-prevailing  turmoil  as  of  a fair 
is  prolonged  to  the  latest  hours  of  night.  Eed 
uniforms  and  “ young  England  ” tourist  suits  end- 
ing their  career  in  rags  on  half-breed  coolies — a 
wearisome  staleness  and  total  effacement  of  local 
colour,  worse  than  commonplace ; and  then,  above 
all,  a very  strong  and  nauseating  smell  of  lotus  and 
tallow,  with  an  after -gust  of  something  peppery 
and  acrid. 

In  the  street  of  native  shops  the  possible  pur- 
chaser is  attacked  by  storm,  every  voice  yelps  out 
prices.  The  dealers  scrambled  into  my  carriage 
with  a whole  catalogue  of  bargains  poured  out  in  a 
mixed  lingo,  and  with  such  overpowering  insistence 
that  I had  to  fly.  An  electric  tram-car,  provided 
with  a loud  bell  that  rings  without  ceasing,  runs 
through  the  suburbs,  a dirty  swarming  quarter 
139 


ENCHANTED  INDIA 


where  the  streets  are  alive  with  naked  children, 
fowls  and  pigs  wallowing  in  heaps  of  filth  and  the 
mud  made  by  watering  the  road. 

Past  a magnificent  railway  station,  and  through  a 
manufacturing  district  of  tall  furnaces,  we  came  to 
the  quiet  country  and  the  Ganges,  bordered  with 
gardens,  where  creepers  in  flower  hang  over  the 
muddy  stream  stained  with  iridescent  grease  and 
soot. 

Pound  the  railway  station  crowds  the  village  of 
Chandernagore,  the  huts  close  together,  with  no 
land  to  spare,  and  at  length  we  were  in  the  city 
of  houses,  with  broad  terraces  in  front  in  a classic 
style,  with  colonnades  and  decorations  in  relief,  and 
broad  eaves  overhanging  for  shade.  And  beautiful 
gardens,  bougainvilleas,  and  almond  trees,  white- 
blossomed  faintly  touched  with  pink,  hedge  in 
streets  with  foreign-sounding  names.  The  air  was 
full  of  the  fresh  scent  of  water  and  greenery  and 
of  the  blessed  peace  of  silence — so  rare  in  India. 

The  cathedral,  embowered  in  shrubs  and  tall 
banyans,  stands  on  a square,  where  a pedestal 
awaits  the  bust  of  Dupleix. 

A stone  parapet  runs  along  the  river  road,  and 
below  it  the  grassy  bank  slopes  gently  to  the  clear 
and  limpid  stream  of  the  Ganges.  On  the  shores 

140 


CHANDERNAGORE 


of  the  sacred  river  fine  trees  overshadow  many 
idols,  and  fresh  flowers  are  constantly  laid  at  their 
feet. 

In  the  city,  which  is  swept  and  cleaned  till  it  is 
hard  to  believe  oneself  among  Hindoos,  there  are 
six  hundred  tanks,  for  the  most  part  stagnant,  in 
which  the  natives  wash  themselves  and  their 
clothes.  Round  others,  which  are  gradually  being 
appropriated  to  the  use  of  the  residents,  and  all 
about  the  houses,  bamboos  are  planted  and  “ flame 
of  the  forest,”  covered  with  enormous  red  star- 
shaped blossoms  as  solid  as  fruit,  and  trees  curtained 
with  creepers  of  fragile  growth — one  long  garden 
extending  almost  to  the  bazaar. 

At  night  the  sound  of  a remote  tom-tom  attracted 
me  to  a large  square  shaded  by  giant  trees.  In  a 
very  tiny  hut  made  of  matting,  a misshapen  statue 
of  Kali,  bedizened  with  a diadem,  a belt,  nanparas, 
and  bangles  made  of  beads  and  gold  tinsel,  stood 
over  a prostrate  image  in  clay  of  Siva,  lying  on  his 
back.  In  front  of  this  divinity,  under  an  awning 
stretched  beneath  the  boughs  of  a banyan  tree,  two 
nautch-girls  in  transparent  sarees  were  dancing  a 
very  smooth  sliding  step  to  the  accompaniment  of 
two  bagpipes  and  some  drums.  The  Hindoo  spec- 
tators sat  in  a circle  on  the  ground — a white  mass 
141 


ENCHANTED  INDIA 


dimly  lighted  by  a few  lanterns — and  sang  to  the 
music  a soft,  monotonous  chant. 

Then  a man  rose,  and  standing  on  the  bayaderes’ 
carpet,  he  recited,  in  verses  of  equal  measure,  a sort 
of  heroic  legend,  making  his  voice  big,  and  emphasiz- 
ing his  words  with  grand  gesticulation.  One  of  the 
dancers  spoke  the  antistrophe,  and  this  went  on 
interminably,  till  their  voices  gradually  sank  to 
mere  hollow  and  expressionless  intoning,  while  they 
swayed  their  bodies  to  and  fro  like  children  who  do 
not  know  their  lesson. 

Then  the  dancing  began  again,  interrupted  for  a 
minute  by  the  call  of  the  night-watchman  as  he 
went  past  carrying  a long  bamboo.  He  paused  for 
a moment  to  watch  the  performance,  and  then  was 
lost  in  the  darkness. 

At  last,  when  it  was  very  late,  the  reciter  lifted 
the  heavy  idol  on  to  his  head.  A few  worshippers 
followed  him,  carrying  the  flowers,  the  little  jars 
and  the  baskets  offered  to  the  goddess,  and  the  pro- 
cession marched  off  towards  the  Ganges ; while  the 
nautch-girls  went  on  with  their  performance,  giving 
loud,  sharp  shrieks  out  of  all  time  with  the  shrill 
but  somnolent  music. 

The  bearer  of  Kali  walked  into  the  sacred  river 
up  to  his  knees,  and  then  dropped  the  idol.  The 

142 


CHANDEKNAGORE 


Hindoos  who  had  followed  him  fell  prostrate  in 
fervent  prayer,  hiding  their  face  in  their  hands,  and 
then  flung  after  the  goddess,  now  lost  in  the  waters, 
all  the  baskets,  jars,  and  flowers,  to  be  carried  down 
the  stream.  For  a moment  the  silver  paper  crown 
which  had  floated  up  spun  on  the  water  that  was 
spangled  by  the  moon,  and  then  it  sank  in  an 
eddy. 

The  people  came  back  to  the  dancing,  which  went 
on  till  daylight.  The  music  could  be  heard  in  the 
distance,  drowned  from  time  to  time  by  the  yelling 
of  the  jackals  or  the  watchman’s  call,  and  it  was  not 
till  daybreak  that  the  drumming  ceased. 

In  the  little  white  church,  all  open  windows,  mass 
was  performed  by  a priest  with  a strong  Breton 
accent.  During  the  sermon,  to  an  accompaniment 
of  parrots’  screaming  and  kites’  whistling,  there 
was  a constant  rustle  of  fans,  which  were  left  on 
each  seat  till  the  following  Sunday.  The  church 
was  white  and  very  plain ; French  was  spoken,  and 
little  native  boys  showed  us  to  our  places  on  benches. 
Old  women  in  sarees  were  on  their  knees,  waving 
their  arms  to  make  large  signs  of  the  cross.  A 
worthy  Sister  presided  at  the  harmonium,  and  the 
little  schoolgirls  sang  in  their  sweet  young  voices 
143 


ENCHANTED  INDIA 


airs  of  the  most  insipid  type  ; but  after  the  incessant 
hubbub  of  bagpipes  and  tom-toms  their  music  seemed 
to  me  quite  delicious,  raising  visions  in  my  mind  of 
masterpieces  of  harmony  and  grace. 

In  the  afternoon — calm  and  almost  cool — I went 
to  call  on  the  Resident,  who  talked  to  me  of  India 
in  the  days  of  Dupleix,  of  its  departed  glory,  and 
the  poor  old  fort  of  Chandernagore,  once  impreg- 
nable and  now  demolished  under  the  provisions  of 
treaties ; and  as  we  walked  on  through  the  town, 
between  gardens  that  look  like  the  great  parks  of 
the  French  kings,  all  the  past  seemed  to  live  again  on 
this  forgotten  spot  of  earth,  and  every  moment,  in 
the  silence  of  the  purple  dusk,  I could  have  fancied 
that  I saw  in  the  avenues,  under  the  tall  phoenix 
palms,  the  shades  of  powdered  marquises  in  skirts 
with  full  farthingales,  and  of  gallant  knights  of 
St.  Louis ; then  from  a far  distance  came  the  sound 
of  a piano — some  simple  melody  quavering  in  the 
air  that  was  so  full  of  memories. 


144 


DARJEELING 


DARJEELING 

Beyond  Siliguri,  where  we  left  the  main  line,  a 
little  toy  railway,  going  very  slowly,  jostles  the 
travellers  across  rice  plantations  and  woods  of  giant 
trees,  under  whose  shade  tx’ee-ferns  expand  on  the 
banks  of  the  streams.  By  the  side  of  the  water  springs 
are  hung  prayers  written  on  strips  of  rice-paper  that 
flutter  in  the  wind  from  the  shrubs  and  bamboos, 
mingling  with  the  blossoms  of  rhododendron  and 
funkia,  spots  of  bright  colour  showing  against  the 
forest  of  mighty  cedars  and  sycamores  and  gloomy 
palms.  Clinging  to  the  highest  branches,  orchids 
like  birds  are  to  be  seen,  and  from  bush  to  bush 
hang  bright  green  threads  covered  with  white  stars, 
tangled  into  hanks  and  hooked  on  to  every  thorn. 
The  vegetation  of  banyans,  phoenix,  and  other  tropical 
plants  gradually  becomes  mixed  with  oak,  box,  and 
plane  trees,  and  then  disappears  altogether  as  we 
get  higher ; and  presently,  as  we  pass  through  a 
belt  of  great  dark  firs,  the  shrubs,  the  mosses,  and 
even  the  flowers  are  those  of  Europe.  Higher  up, 
the  mountain  side  is  mapped  out  into  lines  and 
squares,  green  and  russet,  looking  from  a distance 
l 145 


ENCHANTED  INDIA 


like  ribbed  velvet ; these  are  the  tea  plantations. 
The  horizon  grows  broader,  spreading  away  and 
out  of  sight  towards  the  vision -like  mountains 
forming  the  outposts  of  the  Himalayas ; up  to  the 
very  verge  of  the  eternal  snows  they  are  cultivated 
in  the  same  rib-like  strips,  all  tea  plantations ; and 
amid  the  shrubs  are  the  little  factories  where  the 
precious  leaves  are  dried,  and  villages  of  little 
homesteads  lost  among  the  greenery,  or  peeping 
through  the  opalescent  haze,  intensely  blue  under 
the  pure,  cold  sky  and  crude  sunshine.  The  natives 
here  wear  skins  with  the  fur  inside;  the  leather 
outside  is  patterned  with  red  or  blue  cloth.  Men 
and  women  alike  go  about  in  felt  boots,  which  give 
them  an  unsteady  and  straddling  gait. 

Above  Darjeeling  — a modern  and  fashionable 
health-resort,  a town  of  villas,  for  the  most  part 
with  corrugated  iron  roofs — hangs  a dense  mist, 
cutting  off  the  horizon  at  a distance  of  a few 
miles ; and  through  the  dull  substance  of  this 
fleece,  at  an  impossible  height,  there  was  a reflection 
— a mirage,  an  illusion,  a brighter  gleam,  a bluer 
shadow,  which  might  be  the  top  of  a mountain ; 
but  so  high  up,  so  far  away,  and  above  all  so 
transient,  that  it  failed  to  fix  itself  on  the  memory, 
blotted  out  at  once  by  the  pallid  wall  that  shut 
146 


DARJEELING 


in  the  scene.  But  at  sunset  one  thickness  of  the 
haze  melted  away,  unveiling,  leagues  on  leagues 
away,  a chain  of  giant  mountains,  not  yet  the 
snowy  peaks,  hut  bright-hued  cliffs  on  which  gold 
and  purple  mingled  in  symphonies  before  dying 
into  violet,  turning  to  blue  in  the  moonlight;  and 
the  mists  fell  once  more — a shroud  at  our  feet, 
an  abyss  of  shadows,  in  which  the  tea-planters’ 
lamps  twinkled  through  the  darkness. 

In  the  sleeping  town  of  Darjeeling  a bell  and 
drum  were  sounding  to  announce  the  Tibetan 
Christmas.  The  Brahmin  paradise  remained  in- 
visible and  mysterious  behind  a clear  sky  studded 
with  stars. 

Next  morning — so  far,  so  high  on  the  horizon ! I 
saw  a pink  spot ; then,  as  day  broke,  the  rose 
colour  spread — broader,  lower,  turned  paler,  then  to 
white,  and  the  Himalayas  lay  before  me  in  blinding 
glory  of  size  and  light.  Kinchinjunga,  at  a measure- 
less distance,  looked  in  the  clear  air  as  if  it  were 
quite  close ; and  round  the  sovereign  giant  other 
giants  rent  their  wrappings  of  cloud,  an  amphi- 
theatre of  peaks  of  dazzling  whiteness  lost  against 
the  sky,  and  almost  insensibly  fading  away  behind 
the  vapour  that  rolled  up  from  the  abysses,  grew 
147 


ENCHANTED  INDIA 


thicker,  and  settled  into  a compact  mass  over  the 
lost  summits,  hiding  the  nearer  heights  and  shroud- 
ing Darjeeling  in  opaque  white  fog. 

Round  a temple,  with  iron  roofs  ending  in  copper 
balls  at  the  top,  a crowd  was  watching,  some  seated 
on  steps  cut  in  the  soil  and  some  squatting  on  the 
hillside,  here  almost  perpendicular.  By  the  temple 
long  white  streamers,  fluttering  from  bamboo  poles, 
were  covered  with  painted  prayers.  A Lama  was 
enthroned  in  an  armchair  under  an  arbour  of  pine- 
branches  ; he  wore  a yellow  robe,  and  above  a face 
like  a cat’s  he  had  a sort  of  brass  hat  surmounted 
by  a coral  knob;  his  little  beard  was  quite  white, 
and  he  turned  his  praying  machine  with  a steady, 
dull  movement,  perfectly  stolid.  Two  women  stood 
by  his  side  fanning  him,  dressed  in  close-fitting 
aprons  of  dark  cloth  bordered  with  a brighter 
shade,  and  opening  over  pale  pink  satin  petticoats, 
on  their  heads  crowns  of  flowers  of  every  hue. 

Four  women  and  two  men  wearing  masks 
stretched  in  a broad  grimace — one  of  the  men  in  a 
red  satin  robe  edged  with  leopard-skin,  while  the 
other  had  a squalid  white  shirt,  intentionally  soiled, 
over  all  his  clothes — then  began  to  dance  round  the 
priest,  stopping  presently  to  spin  very  fast  on  one 

148 


DARJEELING 


spot,  and  the  girls’  skirts  floated  gracefully  in  heavy 
folds,  showing  their  under-skirts  of  bright  satin 
embroidered  with  silver  and  gold.  One  of  these 
women,  who  were  not  satisfied  with  painting  their 
faces,  by  way  of  adornment,  on  the  nose  and  cheeks 
with  blackened  pig's  blood,  took  off  her  mask, 
showing  her  whole  face  smeared  with  it.  She 
and  the  man  in  the  dirty  shirt  played  a number 
of  mountebank’s  tricks  to  the  great  delectation 
of  the  spectators,  and  she  finished  amid  thunders 
of  applause  by  seating  herself  on  the  Lama’s  knee 
and  stroking  his  beard. 

Cymbals  and  kettle-drums  formed  the  orchestra, 
reinforced  by  the  shrill  cries  and  strident  laughter 
of  the  spectators. 

Whenever  there  was  a pause  in  the  dance  the 
performers,  to  amuse  themselves,  sang  a scale, 
always  the  same,  beginning  on  a very  high  note, 
or  sometimes  taken  up  from  the  lowest  bass  pitch, 
and  marking  time  with  their  stamping  feet. 

Far  up  the  hill,  and  for  a long  time,  the  clanging 
brass  and  sharp  cries  followed  me  on  my  way  all 
through  the  afternoon,  and  I could  picture  the 
dancing  women,  the  Lama  under  his  gleaming  brass 
hat,  turning  his  praying-wheel  beneath  his  bower 
of  branches  and  papers  fluttering  in  the  wind ; and 

149 


ENCHANTED  INDIA 


not  till  dark  did  the  whole  part)7  break  up  and 
go  back  to  Darjeeling ; the  poorer  women,  on  foot, 
all  a little  tipsy,  danced  a descending  scale  that 
ended  occasionally  in  the  ditch;  the  richer  ladies, 
in  thin  dark  satin  robes  with  wide  sleeves  all 
embroidered  in  silk  and  gold,  and  their  hair  falling 
in  plaits  from  beneath  a fillet  of  red  wood  studded 
with  large  glass  beads,  fitting  tightly  to  the  head, 
rode  astride  on  queer  little  horses,  mostly  of  a 
dirty  yellow  colour,  that  carried  them  at  a brisk 
amble.  Their  husbands,  extremely  attentive, 
escorted  the  dames,  some  of  whom  gave  noisy 
evidence  of  the  degree  of  intoxication  they  had 
reached.  The  least  blessed  had  but  one  husband, 
or  perhaps  two ; but  the  more  fortunate  had  a 
following  of  as  many  as  six  eager  attendants,  whom 
they  tormented  with  incessant  scolding. 

Off  at  four  in  the  morning,  led  by  a Mongol 
guide  with  a broad  expressionless  yellow  face.  My 
steed  was  a perfect  little  devil  of  a horse  of  a light 
coffee  colour. 

I rode  to  Tiger  Hill.  Overhead  hung  a dense 
mist,  like  a roof  of  shadow,  perfectly  still,  wrapping 
us  in  damp  and  frightfully  cold  vapour.  After  two 
hours’  ride  in  the  darkness  we  reached  our  destina- 

150 


DARJEELING 


tion.  Suddenly  the  cloud  fell  like  a curtain  pulled 
down,  the  sky  appeared,  and  then  the  earth  at  our 
feet  became  visible  in  the  starlight.  Some  vestiges 
of  a temple  could  be  discerned  among  the  grass — 
the  foundations  of  enormous  halls,  and  still  stand- 
ing in  solitude,  the  brick  chimneys  in  which  the 
devout  were  wont  to  burn  their  prayers,  written 
on  rice-paper.  Far  away,  in  the  transparent  air, 
above  a wall  of  grey  cloud  — the  dull,  dingy 
grey  of  dirty  cotton-wool — a speck  showed  as  a 
beacon  of  lilac  light,  of  the  hue  and  form  of  a 
cyclamen  flower ; this  turned  to  rose,  to  brick-red, 
to  warm  gold  colour,  fading  into  silver;  and  then, 
against  the  blue  sky,  showed  immaculately  white. 
This  was  Gaurisankar — Mount  Everest — the  top  of 
the  world,  appallingly  high,  inconceivably  vast, 
though  lost  in  the  distance,  and  seen  from  a hillock 
three  thousand  metres  above  the  sea. 

After  the  gianl  a whole  chain  of  lavender  and 
rose-coloured  peaks  turning  to  blue  came  into  sight 
in  the  marvellously  clear  atmosphere ; then  the  sun 
rose  below  us,  in  the  throbbing  tide  of  heat  the 
mountains  seemed  to  come  closer  to  us,  but  imme- 
diately the  mist  gathered  about  Gaurisankar.  “ The 
Apsaras  wearing  impenetrable  veils,  that  mortals 
may  not  gaze  too  long  on  the  throne  of  the  gods,” 

151 


ENCHANTED  INDIA 

said  my  sals,  who  had  fallen  on  his  face  since  the 
first  appearance  of  the  snow-crowned  colossus,  with 
hands  upraised  towards  the  paradise  of  Indra. 

For  another  minute  the  sublime  ice-peak  re- 
mained visible  through  the  gauzy  whiteness,  and 
then  a cloud  rising  from  beyond  the  range  descended 
on  the  heights  and  gradually  enfolded  the  whole 
chain. 

As  we  returned,  vistas  of  unreal  definiteness 
showed  us  endless  valleys  lost  in  the  distance,  and 
vast  spaces  cultivated  in  green  and  russet  stripes — 
the  tea  plantations  that  spread  below  the  now 
vanished  splendour  of  the  snows.  At  a turning 
in  the  road  stands  a cross,  erected  there  in  memory 
of  an  epidemic  of  suicide  that  broke  out  among  the 
soldiers  of  the  English  fort — a small  structure  of 
stone  with  an  iron  roof  that  faces  the  heaven- 
scaling range. 

Towards  noon  the  mass  of  Kinchinjunga  again 
lifted  its  head  above  the  clouds,  now  white  with 
a dust  of  rosy  gold  or  violet  on  the  snow  in  the 
shadows;  and  again,  as  the  clouds  swept  across, 
of  every  changing  tint  of  steel  and  copper,  pearl 
and  sunshine,  till,  following  on  the  ardent  glory  of 
sunset,  a purple  and  living  fire,  like  a flame  within 
the  very  substance  of  the  ice-fields,  all  died  into 

152 


DARJEELING 


mysterious  blueness  under  the  broad  pure  light 
of  the  moon. 

All  the  day  long  a solid  blue  mass  melting  into 
rain  hid  the  mountains  and  darkened  the  nearer 
view ; and  our  return  journey  was  made  between 
two  grey  walls,  through  which  the  trees,  which 
sometimes  met  in  an  arch  overhead,  were  but  dimly 
visible. 

At  the  railway  station  thousands  of  people  had 
collected  to  take  leave  of  a great  turbaned  moollah 
from  Mecca,  dressed  in  yellow  silk.  Long  after 
we  had  left  Darjeeling  the  faithful  ran  by  the 
side  of  the  carriage  to  kiss  his  hand,  on  which 
blazed  an  enormous  diamond  cut  in  a cone ; and 
all  along  the  road,  when  the  train  going  downhill 
went  too  fast  for  anyone  to  keep  up  with  it, 
Moslem  natives  bowed  and  prostrated  themselves 
in  the  road,  shouting  words  of  Godspeed  to  the 
holy  man.  And  at  one  stopping -place  a little 
carpet  was  spread,  on  which  he  took  off  his  shoes 
and  prayed — hurried  through  his  last  prostrations 
by  the  whistle  of  the  locomotive. 

At  night,  when  the  fog  had  at  last  cleared  off,  a 
column  of  fire  was  piled  up  on  the  engine ; it  shone 

153 


ENCHANTED  INDIA 


on  the  smooth  trunks  of  the  “ flame  of  the  forest,” 
which  looked  like  the  pillars  of  a cathedral,  on  the 
sparkling  water-springs  all  hung  about  with  prayer- 
strips,  on  the  veronica  shrubs  covered  with  flowers 
and  as  tall  as  trees,  and  the  sheaves  of  bamboo 
and  fern  ; or  it  lighted  up  the  hanging  screen  of 
creepers,  the  impenetrable  jungle  growth  that  shut 
in  the  silence  of  the  sleeping  forest. 


BENARES 

Yellow  palaces,  mirrored  as  gold  in  the  luminous 
waters  of  the  Ganges,  came  into  view ; cupolas 
quivering  with  dazzling  lustre  against  the  intense 
sky — and  then  the  whole  city  vanished.  Nothing 
was  to  be  seen  but  a suburb  of  shabby  buildings, 
the  commonplace  railway  station  crowded  by  a 
Burmese  pilgrimage  of  Buddhists  come  from  so  far 
— who  knows  why? — to  the  holy  Indian  city. 
Yellow  priests  and  white  doll-like  figures  dragging 
bundles  that  fell  open,  dropping  the  most  medley 
collection  of  objects  to  be  picked  up  and  stowed 
into  the  parcels  again,  only  to  roll  out  once  more. 
A yelling  crowd,  hustling  and  bustling,  shouting 
from  one  end  of  the  station  to  the  other,  and  finally 

154 


BENARES 


departing,  like  a flock  of  sheep,  in  long  files  down 
the  dusty  road,  to  be  lost  at  last  in  the  little 
bazaar. 

All  along  the  narrow  streets,  paved  with  broad 
flagstones  up  and  down  in  low  irregular  steps,  stand 
the  five  hundred  temples  of  Benares,  and  between 
them  houses  with  carved  stone  porticoes.  The 
ochre-coloured  stone,  of  which  they  all  are  built, 
is  toned  in  places  by  a coating  of  reddish  purple, 
faded  by  the  rain  and  sun  to  pale  flesh-colour,  with 
an  undertone  of  the  yellow  wall ; and  this  takes  on 
a glow  as  of  ruby  and  sunset  fires  in  the  watery 
ripple  reflected  from  the  river — a mingling  of  every 
hue  of  intense  sunshine,  filtering  through  the 
awnings  spread  over  the  balconies — a glory  of 
repose,  tender  and  clear,  which  seems  to  emanate 
from  the  objects  themselves,  and  to  envelop  them  in 
a fine  powder  of  light. 

Squeezed  in  and  crushed  between  houses  that 
tower  above  it,  rises  the  pointed  dome  of  Biseshwar 
Matti,  covered  with  leaves  of  chased  gold;  smaller 
cones  surround  the  principal  dome,  bristling  with 
tiny  pyramids  of  gold,  carved  into  flowers  round 
statues  of  Kali  with  her  eight  arms,  of  Ganesa, 
and  of  peacocks  with  spread  tails.  Under  this 
splendid  cupola,  dazzlingly  bright  against  the  sky, 

155 


ENCHANTED  INDIA 


the  temple  itself  is  quite  small,  and  strictly  closed 
against  the  unbeliever.  Some  pious  hands  had  hung 
chains  of  jasmine  and  roses  above  the  entrance,  and 
they  gave  a touch  of  beauty  to  the  stonework,  very 
old,  and  soiled  with  large  stains  of  oil.  A sense  of 
intense  piety  hangs  about  this  sanctuary,  subdues 
every  voice,  and  bends  the  head  of  every  passer-by 
in  reverence  of  the  mystery,  and  they  all  bring 
flowers. 

Under  an  arcade,  lightly  tinted  with  faded  colours, 
and  supporting  a heavy  stone  roof  elaborately 
carved,  a marble  bull  stands  facing  the  well  which 
Vishnu  touched  when  he  came  down  from  heaven. 
This  is  the  Court  or  Well  of  Wisdom. 

Two  fakirs,  squatting  in  a corner,  gazed  at  the 
sacred  stone,  their  bodies  rigidly  motionless;  they 
did  not  seem  to  be  of  this  world,  rather  to  be 
statues  of  gods  themselves;  their  eyes  alone  were 
alive — burning. 

Further  on,  in  the  temple  stables,  open  to  the  sky 
and  surrounded  by  a colonnade  of  carved  and 
painted  pillars,  some  women,  in  silken  sarees  of 
dark  hues,  were  waiting  on  the  bulls  and  the  tiny 
zebu  cows,  feeding  them  with  the  flower  offerings 
strewn  on  the  mosaic  pavement  of  the  courtyard. 

156 


BENARES 


From  the  top  of  the  observatory,  where  instru- 
ments, all  out  of  order,  are  to  be  seen  on  the  deserted 
terraces,  a staircase  in  a half-circle  of  stonework 
leads  straight  up  to  the  open  sky,  and  there  the  eye 
is  dazzled  by  the  view  of  Benares,  all  spread  out 
below  : the  vast  city  of  yellow  stone,  the  cupolas 
of  its  temples,  and  its  palaces  stretching  far  along 
the  Ganges,  which  slowly  rolls  its  milky  green  waters 
under  a sky  of  almost  pearly  whiteness ; and  in 
the  distance  the  grassy  plain  of  bright  emerald 
green,  lost  on  the  horizon  that  throbs  with  the 
heat.  Everything  was  wrapped  in  a halo  rather 
than  a haze,  faintly  blue  with  the  smoke  that  went 
up  from  the  funeral  piles  of  the  Hindoo  dead. 

One  of  the  servants  of  the  place,  sitting  in  the 
shade  of  the  arcade,  was  painting,  after  a strange 
method.  He  sprinkled  powdered  colour  on  the  sur- 
face of  some  water  in  a tub,  outlining  the  colour  with 
black  ; then,  with  a feather,  he  massed  and  arranged 
the  colours,  taking  some  off  and  replacing  it  in 
infinitesimal  quantities.  Finally  the  result  was  a 
representation  of  Siva  and  Ourasi,  robed  in  blue 
and  violet,  against  a background  of  crude  red. 
When  they  were  quite  finished  he  jerked  the  bowl, 
giving  the  figures  a curtseying  motion,  and  stood 
a little  way  off  to  contemplate  the  general  effect ; 

157 


ENCHANTED  INDIA 


and  then,  quite  satisfied,  stirred  the  whole  thing 
up  and  began  again,  the  same  picture,  with  the 
same  precise  care. 

We  sailed  past  the  holy  city  in  a heavy,  massive 
junk,  the  prow  formed  of  a snake  with  its  head 
erect  and  jaws  yawning,  down  the  Ganges,  all 
rippled  with  rose  and  blue.  Palaces,  and  more 
palaces,  with  thick  walls  and  towers,  that  look  like 
bastions,  stand  in  perspective  as  far  as  the  eye  can 
see.  Windows  and  balconies  are  cut  in  the  pon- 
derous masonry  at  the  level  of  the  third  floor,  and 
high  above  these  rajahs’  dwellings  rise  the  domes  of 
the  temples,  pointing  skywards  among  tall  trees  that 
spread  their  shade  on  the  russet  stonework.  At 
the  foot  of  the  palaces,  steps  lead  down  to  the 
river,  divided  by  little  stages  covered  with  wicker 
umbrellas  that  shine  in  the  sun  like  discs  of  gold ; 
under  these,  Brahmins,  after  bathing,  were  telling 
their  beads.  Now  and  again  they  dipped  their 
fingers  in  the  sacred  waters  and  moistened  their 
eyes,  forehead,  and  lips. 

One  of  the  largest  buildings  once  slid  into  the 
river  during  an  earthquake,  and  stands  there  com- 
plete and  unbroken,  its  magnificence  surviving  under 
water.  Some  minarets  only  rise  above  the  surface 
like  kiosks,  and  form  a landing-stage,  invaded  by 

158 


BENARES 


the  bathers,  who  wash  themselves  with  much 
gesticulation,  flourishing  their  long  sarongs  and 
white  loin-cloths,  which  they  spread  out  to  dry  on 
the  steps. 

Between  the  large  parasols  are  thousands  of  little 
pagodas,  formed  of  four  columns  and  a roof,  and 
sheltering  idols  wreathed  with  flowers,  to  whom  the 
faithful  pray  and  bring  offerings.  Garlands  are  for 
ever  floating  down-stream,  jasmine  and  Indian  pinks, 
and  patches  of  scattered  rose  petals ; and  on  the 
banks  of  the  river,  where  the  sand  forms  little  bays, 
flowers  lie  in  a hem  of  delicate  colours. 

Down  the  middle  of  the  Ganges  a white  bundle  is 
being  borne,  and  on  it  a crow  pecking  the  body  of  a 
child  wrapped  in  its  winding-sheet. 

From  the  broad  steps  on  the  shore  other  narrower 
flights  lead  to  archways  and  porticoes,  or  zigzag  up  to 
the  lanes  that  make  a gap  of  distant  blackness  in 
the  light-hued  mass  of  palaces  and  embankments. 

Then  from  afar  came  the  sound  of  tom-toms  and 
bagpipes,  nearer  and  nearer,  and  the  musicians 
became  visible  at  the  top  of  one  of  the  stair-like 
alleys.  First  came  the  men,  then  the  women.  One 
of  these,  robed  in  pale  green  with  a violet  and  silver 
saree,  carried  a child  in  her  arms  wrapped  in  a red 
dress  embroidered  with  gold.  He  was  this  day  six 
159 


ENCHANTED  INDIA 


months  old ; he  had  eaten  rice,  and  was  brought  to 
see  the  sacred  Ganges  for  the  first  time.  The  family, 
friends,  and  neighbours  had  assembled  in  honour  of 
the  great  ceremony,  which  consisted  in  holding  the 
infant  face  downwards  over  the  water,  which  he 
scarcely  saw  with  half-shut  eyes ; and  then  the 
procession  went  back  again  to  the  sound  of  the 
music,  and  was  gone. 

Close  to  a temple,  of  which  the  cornice  is  decorated 
with  female  figures  holding  musical  instruments,  on 
a sort  of  terrace  a party  of  youths  were  making  a 
distracting  din  with  brass  instruments,  acutely  shrill, 
and,  of  course,  tom-toms.  Two  very  small  temples 
covered  with  brass  that  shines  like  gold  stand  in 
the  bazaar  to  mark  the  beginning  and  end  of  the 
coppersmiths’  quarter,  where  every  stall  rings  with 
the  tinkle  of  the  little  hammers  tapping  the  metal 
that  is  beaten  into  trays  and  pots  and  a thousand 
vessels  for  the  worship  of  the  gods  and  for  domestic 
purposes.  Workmen  aged  four,  the  great-grand- 
sons of  the  master-smith,  were  already  trying  their 
’prentice  hand,  chiselling  the  hard  metal  with  a free 
touch,  and  ornamenting  cups  and  bowls  of  traditional 
shape.  And  this  is  the  only  part  of  the  calm  and 
lazy  city,  living  on  its  temples  and  its  sacred  river, 

160 


BENARES 


where  the  visitor  feels  himself  a “ tourist.”  Here 
the  shops  for  the  special  craft  of  Benares  are  fur- 
nished with  the  unwonted  luxury  of  chairs,  and 
some  display  of  signs  and  wares  is  made.  Further 
on  is  a large  open  place  full  of  piles  of  flowers, 
garlands  of  jasmine  and  marigold,  and  heaps  of  rose 
petals  to  be  strewn  on  the  water. 

Next  came  a whole  row  of  very  small  shops,  where 
there  was  an  endless  variety  of  trifles  for  sale,  toys 
made  of  wood  painted  red  and  green ; and  finally,  on 
the  ground  floor  of  houses  ornamented  with  carvings 
and  slender  colonnades,  in  a cool  and  shady  and 
silent  street,  were  the  sellers  of  silk  and  cloth. 

Past  the  buildings,  and  palaces  with  gardens  en- 
closed behind  pierced  stonework,  and  then  across 
fresh  green  fields  full  of  flowers,  under  the  shade  of 
banyans  and  palm  trees,  we  reached  the  temple  of 
the  monkeys.  This  temple,  dedicated  to  the  fierce 
and  bloodthirsty  goddess  Durga,  is  painted  all  over 
of  a vivid  red  colour,  blazing  in  the  sunshine  with 
intolerable  brightness.  Inside  the  sanctuary  a black 
image  of  the  goddess  may  be  seen,  mounted  on  her 
lion,  and  flowers  are  arranged  about  her  in  radiating 
lines  mingled  with  gold  thread,  and  producing  very 
much  the  effect  of  a theatrical  sun.  In  the  fore- 
m 161 


ENCHANTED  INDIA 


court,  on  the  carvings  and  the  roof  of  the  temple 
monkeys  swarm,  rushing  after  each  other,  fighting 
for  the  grains  of  maize  that  are  thrown  to  them, 
and  tormenting  the  wretched  mangy  dogs  that  seek 
refuge  in  the  temple  precincts,  where  they,  too,  are 
kept  alive  by  the  faithful. 

A poor  sick  ape,  beaten  by  all  the  others,  sat 
crying  with  hunger  at  the  top  of  a parapet.  I 
called  her  for  a long  time,  showing  her  some  maize 
on  a tray.  At  last  she  made  up  her  mind  to  come 
down.  With  the  utmost  caution  she  reached  me, 
and  then,  after  two  or  three  feints,  she  struck  the 
platter  with  her  closed  fist,  sending  all  the  grain 
flying.  Utterly  scared,  she  fled,  followed  to  her 
perch  by  a whole  party  of  miscreants  roused  by  the 
gong-like  blow  on  the  tray.  Others  stole  into  the 
temple  to  snatch  the  flowers  while  the  attendant 
priest  had  his  back  turned ; and  when  I left  they 
were  all  busily  engaged  in  rolling  an  earthenware 
bowl  about,  ending  its  career  in  a smash.  In  front 
of  the  temple  the  crimson  dust  round  a stake  shows 
the  spot  where  every  day  the  blood  is  shed  of  a goat 
sacrificed  to  the  Divinity. 

♦ 

A garden  of  roses  and  lilies  was  the  dwelling- 
place  of  a very  ancient  fakir,  who  had  taken  a vow 

162 


BENARES 


to  live  naked,  and  only  put  on  a loin-cloth  when 
ladies  were  expected.  He  was  venerated  by  all,  yes, 
even  by  Abibulla,  who  knelt  before  him,  touched 
the  holy  man’s  feet  and  then  his  own  forehead. 
The  old  fellow  was  surrounded  by  pilgrims  wearing 
wreaths  of  dowers  round  their  neck ; he  came  to 
meet  me,  took  me  by  the  hand,  and  led  me  under 
the  shade  of  a kiosk,  where  he  showed  me  a 
large  book  he  had  written,  containing  an  account 
of  the  joys  and  ecstasies  of  his  life  of  asceticism 
and  prayer.  This  old  man  had  a magnificent  brow, 
and  the  deep  gaze  of  his  kind,  smiling  eyes  was 
fine  in  a face  puckered  with  a thousand  wrinkles. 
Infinite  calm  and  peace  characterized  this  happy 
soul — a naked  man  in  the  midst  of  flowrers. 

At  the  end  of  the  garden,  in  a little  temple,  is 
a statue  of  the  holy  man  of  the  size  of  life,  in 
his  favourite  attitude,  sitting  on  his  crossed  legs. 
Round  the  image  were  the  most  absurd  toys — and 
a photograph  of  the  German  Emperor ! As  I was 
leaving,  the  fakir  called  me  back,  asked  me  to 
think  of  him  sometimes,  and  gave  me  one  of  the 
splendid  yellow  roses  that  hung  about  him  like 
a glory. 

Very  early  in  the  morning,  on  emerging  from 
163 


ENCHANTED  INDIA 


the  gloom  of  the  narrow  streets,  there  is  a sudden 
blaze  of  glory,  the  rising  sun,  purple  and  gold, 
reflected  in  the  Ganges,  the  waters  throbbing  like 
fiery  opal.  The  people  hurry  to  the  shore  carry- 
ing trays  piled  high  with  flowers  and  offerings. 
The  women  carry  little  jars  in  their  hands  looking 
like  burnished  gold,  and  containing  a few  drops 
of  scented  oil  to  anoint  themselves  withal  after 
bathing.  These  jars  are  covered  with  roses  and 
jasmine  blossoms,  to  be  sent  floating  down  the 
sacred  stream  as  an  offering  to  the  gods.  The 
steps  are  crowded  already  with  the  faithful,  who 
have  waited  till  Surya  the  day-star  should  rise, 
before  going  through  their  devotional  ablutions. 
With  a great  hubbub  of  shouts  and  cries,  and 
laughter  and  squabbling,  this  throng  pushes  and 
hustles,  while  those  unimaginable  priests  sit  stolidly 
under  their  wicker  sunshades,  mumbling  their 
prayers,  and  accepting  alms  and  gifts.  All  along 
the  river  there  are  people  bathing  on  the  steps 
which  go  down  under  the  water,  the  men  naked 
all  but  a loin-cloth,  the  women  wearing  long  veils 
which  they  change  very  cleverly  for  dry  ones 
after  their  bath,  and  then  wait  in  the  sun  till 
their  garments  are  dry  enough  to  carry  away. 

In  the  sacred  tank,  where  Vishnu  bathes  when 
164 


BENARES 


he  comes  on  earth,  an  old  woman  was  standing 
pouring  the  stagnant  green  water  over  her  body, 
while  others  of  the  faithful,  seated  on  the  steps, 
were  piously  drinking  the  stuff  from  a coco-nut 
that  they  handed  round.  In  one  corner  of  this 
pool  was  an  exquisite  bower  of  floating  wreaths 
— yellow,  white,  and  violet — a splash  of  bright 
colour  on  the  squalid  water. 

Below  one  of  the  palaces  is  a huge  statue  of 
Vishnu  Bhin  in  a reclining  attitude,  daubed  with 
ochre,  the  face  flesh-colour  and  white;  a statue 
which  is  carried  away  every  year  by  the  floods 
and  restored  every  year  in  its  pristine  grossness. 

The  palace  of  the  Rajah  of  Nagpoor,  with  its 
two  towers,  overlooks  the  river  from  above  a 
broad  stairway.  A balcony  quite  at  the  top  is 
supported  on  a massive  cornice  lightly  carved  into 
acanthus  leaves.  The  damp  has  subdued  the  red 
colour  of  the  building,  fading  it  especially  at  the 
base,  and  from  a distance  it  might  be  fancied  that 
a veil  of  thin  gauze  had  been  hung  over  the  palace, 
and  fastened  beneath  the  carved  parapet. 

On  the  bank  of  the  river,  where  there  are  no 
more  steps,  only  beaten  earth,  in  a little  raised  pit 
a pile  of  wood  was  slowly  dying  out.  A man  with 

165 


ENCHANTED  INDIA 


a cane  raked  back  the  sticks  as  they  fell  and  rolled 
away.  A squatting  crowd  were  waiting  till  their 
relation  was  altogether  consumed  to  cast  his  ashes 
on  the  sacred  waters. 

Then  a girl’s  body  was  brought  out,  wrapped  in 
white  muslin ; the  bier,  made  of  bamboo,  was 
wreathed  with  marigolds,  and  on  the  light  shroud 
there  were  patches  of  crimson  powder,  almost 
violet.  The  bearers,  on  reaching  the  river,  placed 
the  body  in  the  water,  leaving  it  there  for  a time. 

A little  way  off  an  old  man  was  wrapping  the 
naked  body  of  a poor  woman  in  a white  cloth  ; 
then  he  fastened  it  to  two  poles  to  dip  it  in  the 
river ; finally,  with  the  help  of  another  Sudra,  he 
laid  the  corpse  on  a meagre  funeral  pile,  and  went 
off  to  fetch  some  live  charcoal  from  the  sacred 
fire  which  the  Brahmins  perpetually  keep  alive 
on  a stone  terrace  overlooking  the  Ganges.  He 
carried  the  scrap  of  burning  wood  at  the  end  of 
a bunch  of  reeds,  and,  praying  aloud,  walked  five 
times  round  the  pyre,  which  completely  concealed 
the  body.  Then  he  gently  waved  the  bunch  of 
reeds,  making  them  blaze  up,  and  placed  them 
beneath  the  wrnod,  which  slowly  caught  fire,  sending 
up  dense  curling  clouds  of  white  vapour  and  slender 
tongues  of  flame,  creeping  along  the  damp  logs  that 

166 


BENARES 


seemed  to  go  out  again  immediately.  But  sud- 
denly the  fire  flared  up  to  the  top  of  the  pile ; the 
flesh  hissed  in  the  flame,  and  filled  the  air  with  a 
sickening  smell. 

The  maiden  was  placed  on  a very  high  pile  of 
saplings  and  dry  crackling  boughs.  Her  father 
fetched  the  sacred  fire,  and  then,  with  the  same 
ceremonials  and  prayers,  set  light  to  the  wood, 
which  flashed  up  in  a golden  glow  with  a sweet 
odour.  The  flame  rose  clear  against  the  sky  for  a 
long  time  before  the  smell  of  her  burnt  flesh  mingled 
with  that  of  the  poor  woman,  whose  limbs,  under 
the  action  of  the  heat,  seemed  to  stretch  to  an 
inordinate  length.  One  arm,  sticking  out  from  the 
fire,  seemed  to  clench  its  fist,  which  was  bright 
yellow,  as  if  it  would  clutch  at  something ; and 
then  all  was  consumed — the  wood  pile  fell  in,  the 
skull  cracking  with  a dull  snap,  and  nothing  was 
left  but  a heap  of  embers,  into  which  the  atten- 
dants raked  the  cinders  that  rolled  down  the 
sloping  bank. 

The  old  woman’s  bones  and  ashes  were  cast  into 
the  Ganges,  her  husband  still  vacantly  looking  on, 
as  all  that  was  left  of  his  life’s  companion  floated 
for  a few  moments,  and  then  was  swallowed  up  in 
an  eddy. 


j. 


167 


ENCHANTED  INDIA 


On  the  remains  of  the  pyre  was  placed  a corpse 
of  spectral  emaciation,  which  had  been  lying  at 
the  top  of  the  bank  since  the  day  before  for  its 
turn,  as  a pauper,  to  be  cremated  at  the  cost  of 
the  municipality.  The  head  alone  was  wrapped 
in  a wretched  rag,  and  creeping  flies  formed  a 
cuirass  on  the  dark  skin,  already  torn  in  places 
by  the  kites.  Petroleum  was  poured  over  the 
hapless  body,  and  it  flared  up  with  the  wood  in 
a livid  pink  and  green  blaze,  sending  up  a cloud 
of  acrid  red  smoke. 

And  so  on,  in  an  endless  file,  come  the  bodies 
of  the  faithful  dead,  some  from  long  distances,  so 
that  their  souls  may  rise  at  once  to  paradise  from 
their  ashes  burnt  on  the  Manumenka. 

A dome  of  smoke  hangs  like  a vault  over  the 
fires,  motionless,  veiling  the  sun.  The  relations 
of  the  dead,  sitting  on  their  heels,  gaze  at  the 
flames  with  an  expression  almost  of  indifference ; 
no  one  weeps,  and  they  converse  calmly  in  no 
subdued  tones. 

The  pile  of  the  girl  with  marigold  wreaths  and 
the  shroud  stained  crimson  and  purple  flung  her 
ashes  to  the  winds,  reduced  to  mere  atoms  of  bone 
and  light  cinder,  and  the  servants  of  the  place 
drowned  a few  still  glowing  sticks  in  the  river ; 

168 


BENARES 


the  family  and  friends  slowly  went  up  the  yellow 
stone  steps  and  disappeared  through  a gateway 
leading  into  the  town. 

The  attendants  threw  water  on  the  pauper’s 
pyre,  and  then  with  their  long  bamboos  pushed 
the  mass  of  burnt  wood  and  flesh  into  the  Ganges, 
where  it  looked  like  some  enormous  black  frog  with 
a white  patch  for  the  head. 

They  shoved  it  under  water,  but  it  presently 
rose  to  the  surface  and  floated  down  the  stream, 
followed  by  a flock  of  hawks  that  snatched  at 
the  burnt  remains  and  fought  over  them  in  the 
air,  while  crocodiles  below  swam  up  and  snapped 
at  them,  dragging  them  down  in  their  enormous 
jaws,  which  appeared  for  a moment  above  the 
water. 

By  the  side  of  the  Manumenka  stand  two  stelae, 
on  which  two  carved  figures,  represented  as  sur- 
rounded by  flames,  preserve  the  memory  of  the 
time  when  the  funeral  pyre  consumed  the  living 
wife  with  the  dead  husband. 

In  the  town,  at  a spot  where  several  alleys  meet, 
stood  a mob  of  people  holding  out  the  ends  of 
their  sarees  or  dhotis  to  catch  handfuls  of  grain 
which  a kshatriya  was  throwing  to  them  from  a 
169 


ENCHANTED  INDIA 


' f 


window,  though  he  looked  almost  as  ragged  as  the 
beggars  collected  in  front  of  the  house. 

Close  to  a shop  where  I was  bargaining  for  some 
old  bronzes,  in  an  open  booth,  and  quite  alone 
among  the  metal  jars  and  trays,  sat  a boy  of  four, 
his  only  garment  a green  silk  jacket  bordered 
with  blue  velvet,  stitched  with  silver  thread ; there 
was  nothing  between  the  little  vest  and  his  bright 
bronze  skin.  He  had  a blue  cap  embroidered  with 
gold,  and  his  eyes  were  darkened  with  khol.  He 
was  drawing  lines  very  neatly  on  a slate,  and  then 
wrote  beneath  them  the  pretty  Hindoo  letters  that 
look  like  cabalistic  signs,  saying  them  as  he  went 
on,  pa,  pa,  pa,  pi,  pi,  pi,  pai,  pai,  pai,  pom,  pom,  pom, 
till  at  last,  seeing  that  I was  looking  at  him  and 
smiling,  quite  fascinated  by  his  pretty  ways,  he 
burst  out  laughing,  a hearty,  happy,  baby  laugh, 
and  then  gravely  went  on  with  his  business 
again. 

Then,  under  a portico  in  front  of  us,  a man 
began  to  undress.  He  threw  off  his  dhoti  and 
his  sarong,  keeping  on  his  loin-cloth  only.  With 
outstretched  arms  he  placed  a heavy  copper  pot 
full  of  water  on  the  ground,  took  it  up  between 

170 


BENARES 


his  teeth,  and  without  using  his  hands  tilted  his 
head  back  till  the  water  poured  all  over  him  in 
a shower,  which  splashed  up  from  the  pavement, 
sprinkling  the  spectators  in  the  front  row.  Next 
he  tied  his  dhoti  round  the  jar,  which  he  refilled, 
and  fastened  the  end  to  his  long  hair.  Then, 
simply  by  turning  his  head,  he  spun  the  heavy 
pot  round  him.  It  looked  as  if  it  must  pull  his 
head  off,  but  he  flung  it  faster  and  faster  till  he 
presently  stopped. 

There  were  people  performing  their  devotional 
ablutions  below  stream  from  the  place  of  burning, 
and  one  old  man  took  a few  drops  of  water  in 
the  hollow  of  his  hand  and  drank  it,  quite  close 
to  a shapeless  black  mass  at  which  a kite  was 
pecking  as  it  floated  by. 

At  sunset,  when  the  glow  fired  the  stones  to  a 
semblance  of  transparent,  burning  light,  at  the  top 
of  one  of  the  flights  of  steps  rising  from  the  river 
to  the  town,  and  in  front  of  a gate  with  large 
brass  nails,  glittering  like  sparks,  the  figure 
appeared  of  a holy  beggar  in  yellow  rags,  with  a 
copper  jar  blazing  with  reflected  light ; he  was 
set  in  a halo  of  gold,  and  looked  like  the  vision 
of  some  pagan  god.  He  stood  motionless  for  a 

171 


EXCHAXTED  IXDIA 


long  time,  and  then,  as  the  last  sunbeam  went 
out,  he  vanished  beyond  the  fire-studded  gate, 
while  all  the  scene  faded  into  rosy  lilac,  rapidly 
dying  into  blue  night. 

A distant  noise  of  tom-toms — big  drums  thump- 
ing out  minims  in  the  bass,  small  ones  rattling 
out  semiquavers  in  very  short,  sharp  notes ; and  to 
this  accompaniment  came  the  sharp  trill  of  a 
metal  flute.  The  music  came  nearer  at  a brisk 
pace,  heralded  by  two  tall  baggage  camels,  a rare 
sight  in  Benares,  where  the  streets  are  so  narrow 
and  straight,  and  only  foot  passengers  are  to  be 
seen.  Then  followed  saddle-horses,  led  by  hand, 
and  a large  number  of  men  on  foot,  and  after 
an  interval  there  appeared  a band,  atrociously  out 
of  tune,  immediately  in  front  of  a palankin  hung 
with  a shawl  embroidered  all  over  in  palms  of 
different  shades  of  gold  and  beads.  In  this  sat 
a little  bridegroom  of  eight,  dressed  in  pale  yellow 
satin,  a wreath  of  marigolds  round  his  neck,  and 
above  his  turban  a cap  made  of  jasmine,  the  ends 
hanging  all  round  his  head — a little  bridegroom, 
eight  years  old,  very  solemn,  sitting  cross-legged 
with  a huge  bouquet  in  his  hand,  and  facing  him 
his  two  little  brothers  in  white  silk  and  necklaces 
of  jasmine. 


172 


BENARES 


In  the  evening  the  priest  would  say  prayers 
over  the  couple — the  bride  being  probably  about 
five — and  the  bridegroom  would  stay  with  the 
little  bride’s  parents.  Next  day  she  would  spend 
with  the  boy’s  parents,  and  after  that  they  would 
both  go  back  to  their  lessons  and  probably  never 
meet  again,  unless  they  were  very  near  neighbours, 
till  he,  having  attained  the  age  of  fifteen,  they 
would  be  really  married. 

The  Maharajah  of  Benares  sent  his  carriage  this 
morning  to  take  me  to  him.  We  went  to  the 
Ganges,  where  a palankin  was  in  waiting  to  carry 
me  across  the  narrow  strip  of  sand  between  the 
road  and  the  boat,  escorted  by  a worthy  who  held 
a tall  red  umbrella,  fringed  with  gold,  over  my 
head. 

The  barge  was  screened  by  a crimson  awning 
and  rowed  by  four  men  in  red.  The  water,  a 
broad  sheet  of  silky  sheen,  seemed  motionless,  and 
in  the  distance,  under  a soft,  powdery  haze,  Benares 
showed  like  a mass  of  dim  gold,  the  two  slender 
minarets  of  Aurungzeeb’s  mosque  towering  above 
the  town. 

We  landed  at  Ramnagar,  a marble  palace  look- 
ing like  a fortified  town,  its  massive  walls  rising 

173 


ENCHANTED  INDIA 


from  the  river  and  crowned  by  balconies  and  fairy 
kiosks  — a lacework  of  stone  against  the  brilliant 
sky. 

A crowd  of  servants  in  red  came  down  the 
flight  of  steps  to  the  landing-place,  and  stood  on 
each  side,  while  at  the  top  the  Maharajah  stood 
to  receive  me,  in  a tunic  of  yellow  brocaded  with 
silver,  and  silk  trousers  of  various  shades  of  violet 
and  gold  tissue;  his  turban  was  quite  small,  with 
an  aigrette  and  a spray  of  diamonds. 

From  the  open  loggia  at  the  end  of  the  vast 
reception-room,  lined  with  white  marble  and  hung 
with  thick  carpets,  there  was  an  extensive  view 
over  the  green  plain  inundated  with  water  and 
sunshine  to  the  holy  city  of  dazzling  domes  that 
looked  as  if  they  had  just  risen  from  the  Ganges. 
The  air  wTas  full  of  heady  fragrance ; the  Rajah 
described  the  springtide  festivals,  barges  carrying 
troupes  of  dancing  bayaderes  on  the  Ganges  spark- 
ling with  a myriad  lights. 

Instead  of  the  usual  wreath  of  flowers  for  my  neck 
the  Rajah  gave  me  a necklace  of  silver  threads,  to 
which  hung  a little  bag  of  purple  and  green  silk, 
closely  embroidered,  and  looking  like  a scent-sachet, 
or  a bag  to  hold  some  precious  amulet. 

We  drove  across  a succession  of  parks  to  visit 
174 


BENARES 


Sumer  Mundir,  a too  elaborately  carved  temple,  the 
panels  representing  scenes  from  the  Kamayana  set 
in  ornamental  borders.  On  the  roof,  which  bristled 
with  sculptured  stone,  thousands  of  blue  pigeons 
were  perched  asleep,  their  iridescent  plumage  scarcely 
stirring  in  the  sunshine.  Beyond  a tank  at  the  end 
of  the  park  was  a palace  in  the  Arab  style  with 
incredibly  delicate  ornaments  of  wrought  marble, 
open  halls  painted  in  subdued  colouring,  and  lighted 
by  the  golden  reflections  from  the  water.  The  pool 
had  steps  all  round  it,  in  which  crowds  seat  them- 
selves on  the  occasions  of  pilgrimage,  and  far  away 
the  enchanting  vision  of  Benares,  the  holy  city,  in 
every  shade  of  amber  and  honey. 

Then  into  a garden  with  a number  of  quite  narrow, 
straight  paths  bordered  with  nasturtiums,  tall 
daisies,  and  geraniums,  while  a tangle  of  jasmine, 
china  roses,  bougainvillea,  and  poinsettia  flourished 
freely  under  the  shade  of  tamarind  and  palm  trees. 
Over  a clump  of  orange  trees  in  blossom  a cloud  of 
butterflies  was  flitting,  white  patterned  with  black 
above,  and  cloisonnes  beneath  in  red  and  yellow 
with  fine  black  outlines. 

As  we  returned  past  a village — a hamlet  of 
houses  gathering  round  a well  surmounted  by  a 
kiosk  shading  a gaudy  idol  crowned  with  red 

175 


ENCHANTED  INDIA 


pinks — a perfectly  naked  fakir,  his  straight  black 
hair  bound  twice  round  his  head  like  a turban,  stood 
basking  in  the  sun,  leaning  against  a wall,  and 
chanting  in  a rapid  monotone,  while  two  babies, 
under  the  shade  of  a fan-palm  leaf,  stared  up  at 
him  and  sucked  their  thumbs. 

Then  the  sunset,  in  the  furnace  of  heavy  purple 
and  red,  reflected  in  the  water  in  fiery  copper- 
colour  streaked  with  violet,  till  soon  it  all  faded 
together,  to  gold,  to  lemon-colour ; the  mist  rising 
from  the  river  spread  over  all  the  country,  and 
everything  looked  the  same  in  the  cloudless  gloom. 
One  quarter  of  the  sky  glowed  faintly,  through  the 
haze  a crimson  globe  rose  into  view,  the  moon 
appeared,  and  soon  lighted  up  all  the  sky  with  a 
soft  greenish  glow,  pallid  but  deep,  lying  on  the 
tranquil  Ganges  in  broad  rippling  sheets  of  gold  and 
green,  spangled  with  light  where  a fish  leaped,  or 
a white  bird  dipped  its  wing  as  it  skimmed  swiftly 
across  without  a sound.  The  gold  grew  cold  and 
dead,  the  moon  turned  to  steel  against  the  intensely 
blue  sky,  to  cold  blue  steel  on  the  lustrous  face  of 
the  waters. 

We  went  into  the  observatory,  where  the  ser- 
vants were  sleeping  in  the  open  air  on  camp  beds, 
lying  across  each  other  and  blocking  the  entrance. 

176 


BENARES 


I went  to  gaze  at  the  north  star,  looking  very 
small,  a tiny  spangle  of  blue  in  the  blue  velvet 
sky,  visible  at  the  top  of  a crazy  flight  of  steps 
that  goes  up  to  nowhere  in  the  air  from  the  top- 
most terrace. 

Down  in  the  streets  the  houses  looked  ghostly 
blue  in  the  moonlight,  the  cross  roads,  lighted  with 
the  warmer  glow  of  a few  lamps  in  red  paper 
shades,  alternating  with  the  black  darkness,  in 
which  it  was  just  possible  to  discern  cows  and  goats 
lying  on  the  ground. 

Near  a temple  some  bells  and  tom-toms  animated 
the  silence  with  their  clang  and  clatter.  Wor- 
shippers stole  in  noiselessly,  barefoot  on  the  stones, 
and  entered  the  sanctuary,  within  which  tapers 
were  burning. 

Further  away,  in  another  quite  small  temple,  a 
young  Brahmin  robed  in  white,  and  very  handsome, 
was  reading  the  Ramayaua  to  two  women ; the  three 
quite  filled  the  little  building.  The  entrance  was 
screened  by  a curtain  composed  of  jasmine  flowers 
threaded  on  fine  string,  and  behind  this  veil  of 
flowers  the  three  figures  looked  like  the  creatures 
of  a legend.  Outside  the  sanctuary,  seated  on  the 
steps  and  flagstones  and  obstructing  the  street, 
were  a score  or  so  of  women  redolent  of  lemon  and 
N 177 


ENCHANTED  INDIA 


sandal-wood,  and  listening  to  the  scripture  distinctly 
chanted  out  by  the  young  priest. 

In  the  street  were  bayaderes,  and  women  at 
every  window,  the  pretty  faces  brightly  illuminated, 
the  plainer  in  a skilfully  subdued  light.  The  sound 
of  tom-toms  and  pipes  could  be  heard,  and  the 
guttural,  quavering  song  of  a dancing  beauty 
performing  for  some  amateur ; quite  young  boys 
were  wandering  about  the  street,  almost  children, 
all  in  white.  Where  the  roads  met,  a mosque  was 
illuminated  in  honour  of  this  month  of  Ramadan, 
and  the  believers  were  trooping  out  in  a crowd. 

A woman  on  the  river-bank  was  flinging  into  the 
water,  with  devout  unction,  scraps  of  paper  on 
which  the  name  of  Rama  was  written,  rolled  up  in 
a paste  made  of  flour.  Not  far  from  her  another 
woman  was  praying ; she  stopped  to  wash  her 
copper  cooking-pots,  then  prayed  again ; gave  her 
baby  a bath,  and  then,  squatting  on  the  lowest  step, 
prayed  once  more,  and  for  a long  time,  after  which 
she  picked  up  her  pots  and  her  little  one  and  went 
her  way. 

On  the  shore,  on  the  steps  in  front  of  the  temples 
and  round  the  holy  images,  in  short,  everywhere  on 
this  day,  red  powder  was  sprinkled  to  inaugurate 

178 


BENARES 


the  month  just  beginning;  a beggar,  to  secure  the 
favour  of  the  gods,  had  smeared  his  head  and  hands 
with  it. 

And  once  more  in  a barge  on  the  Ganges.  The 
atmosphere  seemed  faintly  iridescent,  like  mother- 
of-pearl,  the  silence  serenely  lulled  by  the  distant 
sound  of  a flute.  The  palaces  and  temples,  reflected 
in  the  still  water,  looked  in  the  distance  like  forts 
crowned  with  turrets  of  gold,  and  their  little 
windows  like  loopholes.  The  broad  stairs  of  the 
quays,  where  the  priests’  umbrellas  glitter,  assumed 
a spacious,  unfamiliar  dignity,  the  red  colour  shading 
paler  towards  the  bottom,  where  it  was  washed  off 
by  the  lapping  Ganges,  looking  as  though  a fairy 
hanging  of  gauze  were  spread  under  the  wavelets 
in  honour  of  the  Apsaras  and  the  divinities  of  the 
river. 

A kshatriya,  a very  old  man,  had  seen  me  yester- 
day returning  from  Eamnagar  with  my  necklet  of 
silver  threads.  Convinced  by  this  that  I must 
be  “a  Europe  Rajah,”  he  tormented  me  to  grant 
him  a title.  He  wanted  to  be  Raj  Bahadur ; this 
was  the  height  of  his  ambition.  After  following 
me  about  the  bazaar  all  the  morning,  he  sat  for  a 
long  time  in  my  room.  So,  to  get  rid  of  him,  seeing 
179 


ENCHANTED  INDIA 


that  he  persisted  in  hoping  that  I should  call  him 
Eaj  Bahadur,  I did  so ; this,  however,  did  not  satisfy 
him : I must  write  it  down  on  paper.  At  last  I 
consented.  Quite  delighted  now,  he  went  off  to 
shout  the  words  to  his  friends,  who  had  been 
waiting  for  him  in  the  garden,  and  then,  very 
solemn,  and  conscious  of  his  new  dignity,  he  dis- 
appeared down  the  road. 

At  the  station  pilgrims  again,  bewildered,  shout- 
ing, rushing  about  in  search  of  their  lost  luggage. 
One  group  presently  emerged  from  the  crowd,  led 
by  a man  bareheaded,  who  rang  a big  bell  with 
great  gesticulations,  his  arms  in  the  air,  and  the 
whole  party  marched  off  towards  the  temples  in 
silent  and  orderly  procession. 

Then,  from  a bridge  across  the  Ganges,  for  a 
moment  we  had  a last  glimpse  of  the  sacred  city — 
the  gold-coloured  umbrellas,  the  throng  of  bathers 
on  the  steps  to  the  river  — and  then  Abibulla 
gravely  remarked,  “ If  only  India  had  three  cities 
like  Benares  it  would  be  impossible  ever  to  leave 
it.” 


180 


ALLAHABAD 


ALLAHABAD 

In  a wonderful  garden,  amazing  after  the  sandy 
waste  that  lies  between  Benares  and  Allahabad — a 
garden  of  beds  tilled  with  flowers  showing  no  leaves, 
but  closely  planted  so  as  to  form  a carpet  of  delicate, 
blending  hues  — stand  three  mausoleums,  as  large 
as  cathedrals,  in  the  heart  of  cool  silence,  the  tombs 
of  the  Sultan  Purvez,  of  his  father  Khusru,  and  of 
his  wife,  the  Begum  Chasira. 

High  in  the  air,  in  the  first  mausoleum,  at  the 
head  and  foot  of  the  white  marble  cenotaph,  covered 
with  letters  that  look  like  creepers,  are  tablets  bear- 
ing inscriptions  which  record  the  life  of  the  hero ; 
and  above  the  sarcophagus  rises  an  almost  im- 
possibly light  and  airy  structure  — a canopy  of 
white  marble  supported  on  columns  as  slender  as 
flower-stems. 

In  the  Begum’s  tomb  the  sarcophagus  is  on  the 
ground,  surrounded  by  a pale-tinted  mosaic  pave- 
ment. The  windows,  screened  by  pierced  stone, 
admit  a rosy  light,  and  the  walls  are  painted  to 
imitate  Persian  tiles,  with  tall  Cyprus  trees  in  blue 
and  green.  Incense  was  burning  in  one  corner,  the 

181 


ENCHANTED  INDIA 


perfume  mingling  with  that  of  the  flowers,  wafted 
in  at  every  opening.  Doors  of  massive  cedar,  carved 
with  the  patience  of  a bygone  time,  rattle  on  their 
hinges  as  the  wind  slams  them  to,  but  still  endure, 
uninjured  by  ages. 

There  was  nobody  in  the  garden  of  the  mauso- 
leums, not  even  the  usual  obsequious  and  mendicant 
attendant.  Only  by  the  tomb  of  Purvez  a moollah 
was  kneeling  in  prayer,  motionless,  and  wrapped  in 
some  very  light  white  material,  which  the  wind 
gently  stirred  and  blew  up.  All  the  time  I was 
examining  the  mausoleums  he  prayed  on,  prostrate, 
immovable ; and  even  from  afar,  from  the  road,  I 
could  see  him  still,  like  a stone  among  the  marble 
work,  at  the  feet  of  the  hero  who  sleeps  his  last  in 
mid-air. 

The  fort  of  Allahabad,  the  fort  of  the  mutiny  of 
1857,  is  a complete  citadel  where,  in  the  thickness 
of  the  walls,  behind  screens  of  acacia  trees,  lurk 
doors  into  palaces.  Among  the  gardens  there  are 
clearings  full  of  guns  and  ambulance  waggons,  and 
enormous  barracks  and  huts  for  native  soldiers. 
Then  on  the  ponderous  stonework  of  the  ramparts 
rise  little  kiosks  in  the  light  Hindoo -Mussulman 
style,  elaborate  and  slender,  built  by  Akbar  the  con- 

182 


ALLAHABAD 


queror,  who  took  Prayag  and  razed  it,  to  build  on 
the  site  a city  dedicated  to  Allah.  And  now  modern 
architecture  is  slowly  invading  it,  adding  to  the 
flat  walls  which  hide  under  their  monotony  the 
gems  of  stonework  with  their  elegant  decoration. 

From  the  parapet  of  one  of  the  bastions  the 
Ganges  may  be  seen  in  the  distance,  of  a sickly 
turquoise-blue,  shrouded  in  the  haze  of  dust  which 
hangs  over  everything  and  cuts  off  the  horizon  almost 
close  in  front  of  us,  and  the  tributary  Jumna,  trans- 
lucent and  green.  At  the  confluence  of  the  rivers 
stands  a native  village  of  straw  and  bamboo  huts, 
swept  away  every  season  by  the  rains.  This  is 
Triveni,  containing  50,000  souls,  which  enjoys  a 
great  reputation  for  sanctity,  and  attracts  almost 
as  many  pilgrims  from  every  part  of  India  as  does 
Benares.  The  people  come  to  wash  away  their  sins 
in  the  Saravasti,  the  mystical  river  that  comes  down 
from  heaven  and  mingles  its  waters  at  this  spot  with 
those  of  the  sacred  Ganges  and  the  Jumna.  The 
faithful  who  bathe  at  Triveni  observe  an  additional 
ceremony  and  cut  their  hair ; each  hair,  as  it  floats 
down  stream  in  the  sacred  waters,  effaces  a sin,  and 
obtains  its  forgiveness.  In  front  of  the  barracks, 
a relic  of  past  magnificence,  there  stands  alone  on 
a porphyry  pedestal,  in  the  middle  of  a broad  plot 

183 


ENCHANTED  INDIA 


trampled  by  soldiers  on  parade,  an  Asoka  column 
carved  with  inscriptions  to  the  top,  and  decorated 
half-way  up  with  a sort  of  capital. 

Fakirs,  holding  out  their  begging -bowls  as  they 
squatted  round  an  opening  in  the  ground,  showed  that 
it  was  the  entrance  to  a temple ; a few  steps  down, 
a long  corridor  with  little  niches  on  each  side,  and 
then  hall  after  hall  full  of  grimacing  gods,  lighted 
up  by  our  guide’s  torch,  till  at  last  we  reached  an 
immense  vault  where  impenetrable  darkness  filled 
the  angles  lost  in  a labyrinth  of  arcades  converging 
to  some  mystery.  Here  all  the  Hindoo  gods,  carved 
in  stone,  have  been  crowded  together,  with  their 
horrible  contortions,  their  stolid  beatitude,  their 
affected  grace ; and  in  their  midst  is  a huge  idol, 
hacked  with  a great  cut  by  Aurungzeeb,  the  Moslem 
emperor,  at  the  time  of  his  conquest.  Suddenly 
all  about  us  was  a crowd  of  Brahmins,  appearing 
from  what  dark  corners  we  could  not  discover. 
They  looked  nasty  and  half  asleep,  and  vanished  at 
once  with  a murmur  of  whispered  speech  that  hung 
about  the  galleries  in  an  echo. 

At  the  entrance  into  one  of  the  chapels  is  the 
trunk  of  an  Akshai  bar  or  16  tree,  a kind  of  fig 
such  as  the  Buddhists  place  in  front  of  their  sanc- 
tuaries. The  tree  is  living  in  the  subterranean 

184 


LUCKNOW 


vault,  and  after  thrusting  its  head  through  the 
heavy  layer  of  stones  forming  the  roof  of  the  temple, 
it  spreads  its  branches  under  the  light  of  day. 
Endless  absurd  legends  have  grown  up  about  the 
mystery  of  this  tree,  which  is  said  to  be  no  less 
than  twenty  centuries  old ; and  my  guide,  who  talks 
aloud  in  the  presence  of  the  idols  he  despises,  being 
a Mohammedan,  bows  reverently  to  the  tree  and 
murmurs,  “ That  is  sacred  ; God  has  touched  it.” 


LUCKNOW 

A vision  of  Europe.  Cottages  surrounded  by 
lawns  under  the  shade  of  tall  trees,  and  against  the 
green  the  scarlet  coats  of  English  soldiers  walking 
about.  And  close  about  the  houses,  as  if  dropped 
there  by  chance,  tombs  covered  with  flagstones  and 
enclosed  by  railings,  and  on  all  the  same  date,  June 
or  July,  1857.  Further  away,  under  the  trees,  are 
heaps  of  stones  and  bricks,  the  ruins  of  mosques  and 
forts,  hardly  visible  now  amid  the  roots  and  briars 
that  look  like  the  flowery  thickets  of  a park,  varied 
by  knolls  to  break  the  monotony  of  the  level  sward. 
In  the  native  town  that  has  grown  up  on  the  site 
of  the  palace  of  Nana  Sahib,  built  indeed  of  the 
185 


ENCHANTED  INDIA 


ruins  of  its  departed  splendour,  dwell  a swarm  of 
pariahs,  who  dry  their  rags  and  hang  out  clothes 
and  reed  screens  over  every  opening,  living  there 
without  either  doors  or  windows,  in  utter  indifference 
to  the  passer-by. 

Opposite  a large  tank,  where  a tall  column  rises 
from  the  water  in  memory  of  the  victims  of  the 
Mutiny,  and  where  a party  of  the  votaries  of  Siva 
are  performing  their  pious  ablutions,  a building 
stands  in  the  Hindoo-Jesuit  style  of  architecture. 
It  is  heavy,  with  white  carvings  above  its  pink 
paint,  and  with  columns  supporting  turrets  crowned 
with  large  lion-faces,  the  masks  only,  in  the  Indian 
manner,  daylight  showing  through  the  jaws  and 
eyes,  and  the  profiles  absurd,  shapeless,  and  un- 
meaning. This  is  the  college  of  La  Martiniere. 

In  the  chapel  of  the  building  through  which 
I passed  to  go  down  to  the  tomb  of  La  Martiniere, 
two  students,  seated  American  fashion,  with  their 
feet  on  the  back  of  the  bench  in  front  of  them, 
were  reading  the  Times  of  India  and  smoking 
cigarettes. 

In  the  circular  marble  crypt  there  is  a large 
cracked  bell,  inscribed  “ Lieutenant-Colonel  Martin, 
1788,”  also  a bust  of  the  corporal,  and,  in  an 
adjoining  cell,  the  tomb  of  Colonel  Martin,  who, 

186 


LUCKNOW 


having  left  his  native  town  of  Lyons  for  Pondi- 
cherry, after  having  painfully  worked  his  way  up 
to  the  grade  of  corporal  in  the  French  king’s  army, 
departed  from  thence  and  travelled  to  Oudh.  There 
as  a favourite  of  the  Moslem  king’s  and  general- 
issimo of  his  troops,  he  amassed  a large  fortune, 
and  spent  it  in  building  the  palaces  and  colleges 
which  perpetuate  his  name  in  several  towns  in 
India.  He  was  an  eccentric  adventurer,  whom 
some  now  remember  here,  and  whose  name  pro- 
nounced in  the  Indian  fashion,  with  a broad  accent 
on  the  a,  suggests  an  almost  ironical  meaning  in 
conjunction  with  the  idea  of  a college. 

By  the  side  of  the  road,  in  the  town,  the  walls 
are  still  standing,  all  that  remains  of  a great  hall 
in  the  palace  of  Secundra  Bagh,  in  which,  after  the 
suppression  of  the  Mutiny  in  1857,  two  thousand 
sepoys  who  refused  to  surrender  were  put  to  death. 

And  at  this  day  the  high  road  passes  Secundra 
Bagh  in  ruins,  and  on  the  ground  where  Nana 
Sahib’s  soldiers  fell,  huge  flowers  are  strewn  of 
“flame  of  the  forest”  fadiug  into  hues  of  blood. 

In  the  middle  of  a garden,  full  of  clumps  of 
flowering  shrubs  standing  on  green  lawns,  is  the 
Nadjiff  Ackraff,  a vast  rotunda  crowned  with  gilt 

187 


ENCHANTED  INDIA 


cupolas  and  spires,  and  all  round  the  building  is  an 
arcade  built  in  a square  and  studded  with  iron  pins 
on  which  thousands  of  wax  lights  are  stuck  on  the 
evenings  of  high  festivals. 

Inside  the  mausoleum  numberless  lustres  hang 
from  the  roof,  aud  fine  large  standing  lamps  with 
crystal  pendants  burn  round  two  tombs  covered 
with  antique  hangings  and  wreathed  with  jasmine ; 
beneath  these  lie  the  two  last  kings  of  Oudh. 
Small  models  of  two  famous  mosques,  one  in  gold 
and  one  in  silver,  are  placed  on  the  tombs,  round 
which  a whole  regiment  of  obsequious  moollahs  and 
beggars  mount  guard.  On  the  walls  childish  paint- 
ings, representing  scenes  of  the  Anglo  - Indian 
conflict,  alternate  with  mirrors  in  gilt  frames,  and 
silk  standards  exquisitely  faded,  embroidered  with 
dim  gold  and  silver,  and  surmounted  by  tridents. 

Here,  once  more,  is  the  spectre  of  the  mutiny 
that  broke  out  in  the  Residency,  of  which  the  ruins 
may  be  seen  in  the  middle  of  a park  intersected  by 
watercourses,  the  English  flag  still  proudly  waving 
over  them. 

The  gateway  looks  as  if  it  had  been  carved  by 
the  dints  of  bullets  in  the  stone,  and  close  by, 
a breach  in  the  huge  enclosing  wall  scored  all  over 
by  shot  gave  ingress  to  the  murderous  host.  Inside, 

188 


CAWNPORE 


on  the  walls  that  are  left  standing,  and  they  are 
many,  the  ballets  seem  to  have  scrawled  strange 
characters.  Tn  the  bath-house  with  its  graceful 
columns  and  arabesque  ornaments,  in  Dr.  Fayrer’s 
house,  of  which  the  proportions  remind  us  of 
Trianon,  where  Sir  Henry  Lawrence  died  among 
the  ruins  of  the  mosque — everywhere,  we  see  tab- 
lets of  black  marble  commemorating  the  numerous 
victims  of  the  rebellion.  In  one  barrack  two  hun- 
dred and  forty-five  women  and  children  were  mur- 
dered ; in  another  forty-five  officers  were  buried  in 
the  ruins.  And  close  by  the  scene  of  carnage,  in 
a smiling  cemetery,  their  graves  hidden  in  flowers, 
under  the  shadow  of  the  English  flag  that  flies  from 
the  summit  of  the  ruined  tower  which  formerly 
commanded  the  country  round,  sleep  the  nine  hun- 
dred and  twenty -seven  victims  of  Nana  Sahib’s 
treachery. 


CAWNPORE 

Here,  even  more  than  at  Lucknow,  are  the 
memories  of  1857 — columns  and  tombs;  and  on 
the  spot  where  the  last  victims  who  had  trusted 
him  were  murdered  by  the  orders  of  the  Indian 
prince,  stands  the  “ Memorial,”  an  arcade  sur- 
189 


ENCHANTED  INDIA 


rounding  the  figure  of  an  angel,  which  in  its 
Christmas  - card  sentimentality  suggests  the  apo- 
theosis of  a fairy  drama,  and  has  the  arid  lack 
of  feeling  that  characterizes  a monochrome  figure 
in  vulgar  decoration,  almost  counteracting  the  pity 
we  experience  in  the  presence  of  the  simpler  tombs 
— all  bearing  the  same  date,  June,  1857. 

By  the  roadside  came  two  figures  tottering  along, 
and  then,  turning  to  look  at  me,  showed  me  the 
horror  of  their  shrivelled  bodies,  their  dimmed  eyes 
— all  that  seemed  alive  in  those  drawn  faces  of 
skin  and  bone — the  jaw  stiffened  in  a skull-like 
grimace ; victims  of  the  famine,  who  had  come 
from  the  Central  Provinces  where  there  had  been 
no  rain  for  two  years,  and  where  everything  was 
dying.  This  couple  were  making  their  way  to  a 
poorhouse  hard  by.  They  had  come  from  a village 
in  Bundelkund,  whence  all  the  inhabitants  had  fled 
— themselves  the  sole  survivors  of  a family  of 
eighteen  souls.  First  the  children  died,  then  the 
very  old  folks.  These  two  had  kept  themselves 
alive  on  what  had  been  given  them  on  the  way, 
but  immigrants  soon  were  too  many  in  the  districts 
unvisited  by  famine,  and  ere  long  they  could  get 
nothing;  then  they  fed  on  roots,  on  what  they 

190 


CAWNPORE 


could  steal  from  fields  or  garden-plots,  or  found 
left  to  rot,  scorned  even  by  the  beasts. 

They  were  clad  in  colourless  rags,  matted  and 
grizzled  hair  hung  about  their  pain-stricken  faces. 
The  woman  was  the  more  delicate,  her  bones  smaller 
and  less  knotted  than  those  of  the  man,  whose 
joints  were  gnarled,  his  scraggy  knees  forming 
thick  bosses  of  bone  above  his  shins.  They  threw 
themselves  like  hungry  animals  on  some  cooked 
grain  which  Abibulla  brought  out  for  them,  and 
then,  with  scared  looks  all  round,  they  went  quickly 
away,  as  quickly  as  they  could  with  halting,  weary 
feet,  without  even  saying  thank-you. 

The  poorhouse  is  about  two  miles  from  the 
city ; it  consists  of  a courtyard  enclosed  by  walls, 
from  which  awnings  are  stretched  supported  on 
poles.  And  here  from  twelve  to  fifteen  hundred 
wretched  skeletons  had  found  shelter,  spectres  with 
shoulder-blades  almost  cutting  through  the  skin, 
arms  shrunk  to  the  bone,  with  the  elbow-joint  like 
a knot  in  the  middle,  and  at  the  end  hands  which 
looked  enormous  and  flat  and  limp,  as  if  every 
knuckle  were  dislocated.  Their  gnarled  knees  pro- 
jected from  the  fearful  leanness  of  their  legs,  and 
the  tightened  skin  between  the  starting  ribs  showed 
the  hollow  pit  of  the  stomach.  Men  and  women 
191 


ENCHANTED  INDIA 


alike  were  for  the  most  part  naked,  but  for  a ragged 
cotton  loin-cloth.  And  all  had  the  same  scared 
look  in  their  eyes,  the  same  grin  of  bare  teeth 
between  those  hollow  cheeks.  Almost  all  had 
bleeding  wounds  where  the  bones  had  come  through 
the  skin. 

Such  as  were  able  to  work  at  making  rope  or 
straw  mats  earned  an  anna  a day,  the  children 
half  an  anna.  This  was  extra  to  their  food,  a cake 
of  gram  flour,  which  was  all  the  allowance  for 
twenty-four  hours.  But  among  those  admitted 
to  the  poorhouse  about  a quarter  of  the  number 
were  unable  to  work.  In  a similar  but  smaller 
enclosure  adjacent  was  the  infirmary,  a hospital 
with  no  physician,  no  remedies.  The  shrunken 
creatures  lay  shivering  in  the  sun,  huddled  under 
rags  of  blanket.  All  were  moaning,  many  were 
unconscious,  wandering  in  delirium,  shrieking,  and 
writhing.  One  man,  too  weak  to  stand,  came  up 
grovelling  on  his  hands  and  knees,  taking  me  for 
a doctor,  and  beseeching  me  to  go  to  his  wife  who 
was  lying  over  there,  and  by  her  a dusky  moist 
rag  as  it  seemed — her  very  inside  purged  out  by 
dysentery. 

Near  her  was  another  woman,  gone  mad,  dancing, 
her  skeleton  limbs  contorted  in  a caricature  of 

192 


CAWNPORE 


grace ; and  a child  of  some  few  months,  like  an 
undeveloped  abortion,  of  the  colour  of  a new  penny, 
with  a large  head  rolling  on  a neck  reduced  to  the 
thickness  of  the  vertebrae,  and  arms  and  legs  no 
larger  than  knitting-pins,  but,  in  a sort  of  mockery, 
the  swollen  belly  of  the  fever-stricken.  The  eyes 
blinked  in  the  little  wrinkled  face,  seeking  some- 
thing in  vacancy ; it  tried  to  cry,  but  the  only 
sound  was  a feeble  croak. 

One  boy,  who  being  very  tall  looked  even  more 
emaciated  than  the  rest,  dragged  an  enormous  leg 
swollen  with  elephantiasis,  which  had  not  diminished 
with  the  reduction  of  the  rest  of  his  body. 

“ And  is  there  no  doctor  ? ” 

“ He  comes  now  and  then,”  said  the  baboo,  who 
was  our  guide ; but  on  my  pressing  the  question 
this  “now  and  then”  remained  vague,  no  day  or 
week  could  be  named. 

“ And  no  medicine  ? ” 

“We  give  rice  to  the  sick,  who  all  have  dysentery, 
instead  of  the  daily  cake.” 

“ And  is  that  all  ? ” 

“ But  rice  is  very  good,  and  it  is  very  dear,  and 
some  of  them  have  been  ill  for  three  weeks.” 

“ And  how  many  die  every  day  ? ” 

“Five — six,”  said  the  baboo,  hesitating;  then, 
193 


o 


ENCHANTED  INDIA 


seeing  that  I was  quite  incredulous,  “ Sometimes 
more,”  he  added. 

Further  away  was  one  of  the.  famine-camps — 
established  all  over  India — to  afford  the  means  of 
earning  a living  to  those  whom  the  scourge  had 
driven  from  their  native  provinces. 

Two  or  three  thousand  haggard  and  fleshless 
beings  were  digging  or  carrying  earth  to  form  an 
embankment  for  a railway  or  a road.  With  arms 
scarcely  thicker  than  the  handles  of  the  tools  they 
wielded,  the  labourers  gasped  in  the  air,  tired  in  a 
minute,  and  pausing  to  rest  in  spite  of  the  abuse 
of  the  overseers.  Emaciated  women,  so  small  in 
their  tattered  sarees,  carried  little  baskets  on  their 
heads  containing  a few  handfuls  of  earth,  but 
which  they  could  scarcely  lift.  One  of  them, 
wrinkled  and  shrunken,  looked  a hundred  years 
old  tottering  under  her  load ; on  reaching  the  spot 
where  she  was  to  empty  out  the  soil,  she  leaned 
forward  a little  and  let  the  whole  thing  fall, 
indifferent  to  the  dust  which  covered  her  and  filled 
her  mouth  and  eyes ; and  after  taking  breath  for 
a moment,  off  she  went  again  as  if  walking  in  her 
sleep. 

The  men  are  paid  as  much  as  two  annas  (one 
penny)  a day.  The  women  earn  ten,  seven,  or  three 

194 


CAWNPORE 


cowries  (shells  at  the  rate  of  about  190  to  the 
anna)  for  each  basket -load,  according  to  the 
distance,  and  could  make  as  much  as  an  anna  a 
day.  But  each  of  these  toilers  had  to  support 
many  belongings  who  could  not  work,  and  squatted 
about  the  camp  in  their  desolate  and  pitiable 
misery.  And  the  food  was  insufficient  for  any 
of  them,  only  hindering  the  poor  creatures  from 
dying  at  once. 

The  baboo  who  has  lost  caste  and  been  half- 
civilized  in  the  Anglo-Indian  colleges,  is  always 
the  middleman  between  the  Government  and  the 
poor;  and  he,  barefaced  and  with  no  pretence  of 
concealment,  took  twenty  per  cent,  of  the  wages 
he  was  supposed  to  pay  the  labourers.  And  there 
were  none  but  baboos  to  superintend  the  poor- 
houses  and  the  famine-camps.  It  is  said  that 
during  the  previous  famine  some  made  fortunes  of 
six  to  eight  lacs  of  rupees  (the  lac  is  £10,000). 

These  gentlemen  of  the  Civil  Service  would  put 
in  an  appearance  “ now  and  then  ” — the  eternal 
“ now  and  then  ” that  answers  every  question  in 
India.  They  stepped  out  of  a buggy,  walked  quickly 
round,  had  seen,  and  were  gone  again  in  a great 
hurry  to  finish  some  important  work  for  the  next 
European  mail. 


195 


ENCHANTED  INDIA 


And  of  all  the  victims  of  the  disaster  those  I had 
just  seen  were  not  the  most  to  be  pitied.  It  was  on 
families  of  high  caste,  men  who  might  not  work  and 
whose  wives  must  be  kept  in  seclusion,  that  the 
famine  weighed  most  cruelly.  At  first  they 
borrowed  money  (and  the  rate  of  interest  recognized 
and  tolerated  here  is  seventy-five  per  cent.),  then 
they  sold  all  they  could  sell.  Bereft  of  every 
resource,  unable  to  earn  anything  in  any  way, 
regarding  the  famine  as  an  inevitable  infliction  by 
the  incensed  gods,  they  let  themselves  starve  to 
death  in  sullen  pride,  shut  up  in  their  houses  with 
their  womankind.  Thus  they  were  the  most  diffi- 
cult to  rescue.  Their  unassailable  dignity  made 
them  refuse  what  they  would  have  regarded  as 
charity,  even  to  save  the  life  of  those  dearest  to 
them,  and  it  needed  the  angelic  craft  of  the  women 
of  the  Zenana  Mission  to  induce  the  kshatriyas  to 
accept  the  smallest  sum  to  keep  themselves  alive. 

Grain  was  now  at  five  times  the  usual  price,  and 
would  continue  to  rise  till  the  next  harvest-time. 
Official  salaries  and  the  wages  of  the  poor  remained 
fixed,  and  misery  was  spreading,  gaining  ground  on 
all  sides  of  the  devastated  districts. 

A few  officers,  a few  clergy  only,  had  organized 
some  distribution  of  relief ; the  administration, 

196 


CAWNPOKE 


wholly  indifferent,  was  drawing  double  pay  in 
consideration  of  the  increase  of  work  in  famine 
time. 

The  road  from  Cawnpore  to  Gwalior  makes  a 
bend  towards  central  India  across  a stony,  barren 
tract,  where  a sort  of  leprosy  of  pale  lichen  has 
overgrown  the  white  dust  on  the  fields  that  are 
no  longer  tilled.  There  is  no  verdure;  mere  skeletons 
of  trees,  and  a few  scattered  palms  still  spread  their 
leaves,  protecting  under  their  shade  clumps  of 
golden  gynerium. 

As  we  approached  Jhansi  we  passed  a village 
whence  all  the  inhabitants  had  fled.  The  houses, 
the  little  temples,  the  gods  on  their  pedestals  by 
the  dried-up  tanks — everything  was  thickly  coated 
with  white  dust. 

Through  the  half-open  doors  in  the  courtyards 
bones  were  bleaching,  almost  buried  under  the  fine 
powder  that  lies  on  everything.  And  from  this 
dust,  as  we  trod  it,  rose  a sharp  smell  of  pepper  and 
smoke.  Twisted  branches  drooped  forlorn  from  the 
skeletons  of  a few  trees  that  were  left  standing. 
Parasitic  creepers  had  woven  a flowing  robe  of 
tangle  over  a statue  of  Kali,  left  unbroken  in  front 
of  a small  temple  in  ruins ; and  all  over  the  withered 
197 


ENCHANTED  INDIA 


and  faded  growth  the  fine  white  dust  had  settled 
in  irregular  patterns,  a graceful  embroidery  rather 
thicker  in  the  folds. 

There  was  not  a living  thing  in  the  silence  and 
overheated  air — not  a bird,  not  a fly;  and  beyond 
the  houses  lay  the  plain  once  more,  a monotonous 
stretch  of  dead  whiteness,  the  unspeakable  desola- 
tion of  murderous  nature,  henceforth  for  ever 
barren. 

At  Jhansi,  by  the  station,  were  parties  of  famish- 
ing emigrants,  all  with  the  same  dreadful  white 
grimace  and  glazed  eyes,  and  in  the  town  more 
starving  creatiires  dragging  their  suffering  frames 
past  the  shops — almost  all  closed — or  begging  at 
the  doors  of  the  temples  and  mosques ; and  the  few 
passers-by  hurried  on  as  if  they,  too,  wanted  to 
escape,  overpowered  by  this  scene  of  dread  and 
horror. 

The  train,  now  travelling  northwards  again,  ran 
for  a long  way  across  the  scorched  plain  through 
groves  of  dead  trees  and  sandhills  covered  with 
lichen,  till,  in  the  golden  sunset  close  to  Gwalior, 
suddenly,  at  the  foot  of  a hill,  we  came  upon  the 
greenery  of  fine  parks  with  palaces  rising  above 
cool  marble  tanks. 


198 


GWALIOR 


GWALIOR 

A giant  rock  and  natural  fortress  command  the 
plain,  towering  above  the  garden-land.  Two  roads, 
hewn  in  the  stone,  lead  by  easy  ascents  to  the  top. 
All  along  the  rock  wall  bas-reliefs  are  carved, 
warriors  riding  on  elephants,  and  Kalis  in  graceful 
attitudes.  There  are  openings  to  the  green  depths 
of  reservoirs,  small  temples,  arcades  sheltering  idols 
bowered  in  fresh  flowers.  Arches  in  the  Jain  style 
of  architecture  span  the  road,  and  at  the  summit, 
beyond  the  inevitable  drawbridge,  stands  Mandir, 
the  palace  of  King  Pal,  a dazzling  structure  of 
yellow  stone,  looking  as  if  it  had  grown  on  the  hill- 
rock  that  it  crowns  with  beauty.  Towers  carry- 
ing domed  lanterns  spring  skywards  above  the 
massive  walls.  The  decoration  is  playfully  light, 
carvings  alternating  with  inlaid  tiles ; and  all 
round  the  lordly  and  solemn  edifice  wheels  a pro- 
cession of  blue  ducks  on  a yellow  ground  in  earthen- 
ware. 

Under  the  archway  by  which  we  entered  a cow 
crossed  our  path,  her  head  decked  with  a tiara  of 
peacock’s  feathers,  and  went  her  way  alone  for  a 

199 


ENCHANTED  INDIA 

walk  at  an  easy  pace.  Within  the  palace  is  a maze 
of  corridors,  and  pierced  caning  round  every  room 
fretting  the  daylight.  An  inner  court  is  decorated 
with  earthenware  panels  set  in  scroll-work  of  stone. 

A slender  colonnade  in  white  marble  is  relieved 
against  the  yellow  walls,  and  below  the  roof,  in 
the  subdued  light  of  the  deeper  angles,  the  stone, 
the  marble,  the  porcelain,  take  hues  of  sapphire, 
topaz,  and  enamel,  reflections  as  of  gold  and  mother- 
of-pearl.  In  a pavilion  is  a little  divan  within 
three  walls,  all  pierced  and  carved ; it  suggests  a ' 
hollow  pearl  with  its  sides  covered  with  embroidery 
that  dimly  shows  against  the  sheeny  smoothness 
of  the  marble.  The  effect  is  so  exquisitely  soft, 
so  indescribably  harmonious,  that  the  idea  of  size 
is  lost,  and  the  very  materials  seem  transfigured 
into  unknown  substances.  One  has  a sense  as  of 
being  in  some  fairy  palace,  enclosed  in  a gem 
excavated  by  gnomes — a crystal  of  silk  and  frost, 
as  it  were,  bright  with  its  own  light. 

The  rock  is  girt  with  a belt  of  walls,  and  in  the 
citadel,  besides  Mandir,  with  its  outbuildings  and 
tanks,  there  is  a whole  town  of  palaces  and  temples, 
which  are  being  demolished  little  by  little  to  make 
way  for  barracks. 


200 


GWALTOR 


In  front  of  these  stolid -looking  sepoys,  their 
black  heads  and  hands  conspicuous  in  their  yellow 
uniforms,  are  drilled  to  beat  of  drum,  marking 
every  step  and  movement. 

Adinath,  a Jain  temple,  is  roofed  with  huge 
blocks  of  stone.  The  airy  architecture  is  a medley 
of  balconies,  of  pierced  panels,  of  arcades  in  squares, 
in  lozenges,  in  octagons ; the  two  stories,  one  above 
the  other,  are  on  totally  different  plans,  and  along 
every  wall,  on  every  column  and  every  balustrade 
runs  a fatiguing  superfluity  of  ornament,  figures 
and  arabesques  repeated  on  the  stone,  of  which  not 
an  inch  is  left  plain. 

The  roof,  upheld  by  a double  row  of  stone  blocks 
set  on  end,  and  somewhat  atilt,  weighs  on  the 
building,  which  is  already  giving  way ; and  the  next 
monsoon  will  destroy  this  marvel  of  the  Jain  to 
spare  the  trouble  of  military  constructors  — the 
builders  of  barracks. 

Another  temple,  Sas  Bahu,  likewise  elaborately 
carved  under  a roof  too  heavy  for  it,  has  a terrace 
overhanging  the  hill,  whence  there  is  a view  over 
Lashkar,  the  new  palace,  gleaming  white  among  the 
huge  trees  of  the  park. 

At  our  feet  lay  old  Gwalior,  sacked  again  and 
again,  and  as  often  rebuilt  out  of  its  own  ruins ; 

201 


ENCHANTED  INDIA 


and  now  the  princely  residences,  all  of  marble 
wrought  in  almost  transparent  lacework,  serve  to 
shelter  wandering  cattle. 

One  mosque  alone,  a marvel  of  workmanship,  its 
stones  pierced  with  a thousand  patterns,  remains 
intact  amid  the  Indian  dwellings  built,  all  round 
the  sacred  spot,  of  the  remains  of  ancient  magnifi- 
cence, of  which,  ere  long,  nothing  will  be  left 
standing. 


A fortified  wall  encloses  Lashkar,  the  residence 
of  the  Maharajah  of  Gwalior;  the  bridges,  which 
form  part  of  the  enclosure  crossing  the  river  that 
flows  through  the  estate,  have  thick  bars  filling 
up  the  arches. 

On  entering  the  park  the  cocked  turbans  of  the 
bodyguard  again  reminded  us  of  the  hats  of  the 
French  Guards. 

Heavy  coaches  with  solid  wheels,  hermetically 
covered  with  red  stuff  patterned  with  white,  were 
bringing  home  the  invisible  but  noisy  ladies  of  the 
zenana. 

The  garden,  which  is  very  extensive  and  laid  out 
in  beds  carefully  crammed  with  common  flowers, 
has  Jabloclikoff  lamps  at  every  turning.  It  is 
traversed  by  a little  narrow-gauge  railway,  and 

202 


GWALIOR 


the  toy  train  is  kept  under  a vault  of  the  brand- 
new,  spotless  white  palace. 

The  Maharajah  was  out,  at  his  devotions;  I could 
see  everything.  Up  a staircase  with  a gilt  paper 
and  gilt  banisters,  leading  to  rooms  where  crystal 
lustres  hang  like  tears  above  Oxford  Street  furni- 
ture, and  lovely  chromo-lithographs  in  massive  and 
glittering  frames. 

In  the  forecourt  a cast-metal  nymph  presides 
over  a sham-bronze  fountain. 

The  south-western  side  of  the  great  rock  of  Gwalior 
is  hewn  into  temples  sheltering  gigantic  statues 
of  Tirthankar ; there  are  the  usual  bas-reliefs  all 
over  the  walls,  idols  squatting  under  canopies  and 
pagodas,  slender  columns  supporting  arches,  stand- 
ing out  in  contrast  with  the  ochre-coloured  stone. 
Other  temples,  vast  halls  as  at  Ellora — a vale  of 
pagodas,  “ the  happy  valley  ” — have  all  disappeared 
under  the  picks  of  engineers,  to  make  a dusty 
road  to  the  new  town  of  bungalows  all  adobe  and 
straw  thatch. 

As  the  sun  sank  the  citadel  absorbed  the  gold 
and  purple  glory,  and  looked  as  though  it  were 
of  some  translucent  half-fused  metal ; the  towers 
and  temples  with  their  decoration  of  tiles  blazed 
203 


ENCHANTED  INDIA 


against  the  pure  sky.  High  over  Manclir  a little 
balcony  with  spindle  columns,  overhanging  the 
precipice  at  a giddy  height,  caught  the  last  rays 
of  Surya,  and  flashed  with  a gem-like  gleam  above 
Gwalior,  which  was  already  shrouded  in  the  blue 
haze  of  night. 


AGRA 

In  a suburb  of  little  houses  beyond  a great  open 
square  stands  a gateway — a monumental  portico  of 
pink  sandstone  inlaid  with  white  marble,  on  which 
the  texts  from  the  Koran,  in  black  marble,  look 
green  in  the  intense  light. 

On  entering  this  portal,  lo,  a miraculous  vision ! 
At  the  end  of  an  avenue  of  dark  cypress  trees 
stands  the  tomb  of  Mumtaj- Mahal,  a dream  in 
marble,  its  whiteness,  crowned  by  five  cupolas  that 
might  be  pearls,  mirrored  in  a pool  edged  with  pink 
stone  and  borders  of  flowers. 

The  whole  mausoleum,  the  terrace  on  which  it 
stands,  the  four  minarets  as  tall  as  light-towers, 
are  all  in  dead  white  marble,  the  whiteness  of 
milk  and  opal,  glistening  with  nacreous  tints  in 
the  brilliant  sunshine  under  a sky  pale  with  heat 
and  dust. 


AGRA 


Inside,  the  walls  are  panelled  with  mosaic  of 
carnelian  and  chalcedony,  representing  poppies  and 
funkias,  so  fragile-looking,  so  delicate,  that  they 
seem  real  flowers  blooming  in  front  of  the  marble. 
And  marble  screens,  carved  into  lace-work,  filling 
the  high  doorways  and  the  windows,  admit  a tender 
amber-toned  light. 

Under  the  central  dome  sleeps  Mumtaj-Mahal, 
the  well-beloved  sultana,  for  whom  Shah  Jehan 
erected  the  most  beautiful  mausoleum  in  the  world. 

A marble  balustrade,  of  flowing  design  and 
astounding  delicacy,  exquisitely  harmonious  and 
artistic,  encloses  the  white  sarcophagus,  which  is 
inlaid  with  mindi  and  basilic  flowers  in  costly  agate, 
linked  by  inscriptions  looking  like  lacings  of  narrow 
black  braid.  This  balustrade  alone,  in  the  Taj, 
under  the  marble  pile  which  forms  the  tomb  of 
the  empress,  and  on  which  20,000  craftsmen  la- 
boured for  twenty  years,  would,  in  its  indescribable 
beauty  of  workmanship,  have  amply  fulfilled  Shah 
Jehan’s  vow. 

On  the  outside,  all  round  the  lower  part  of  the 
monument,  carved  borders  frame  flowers  of  pale 
mosaic  in  the  walls ; the  ornament  is  in  such  faint 
relief  that  at  a short  distance  it  is  invisible,  and 
the  Taj  is  seen  only  in  the  perfect  elegance  of  its 
205 


ENCHANTED  INDIA 


proportions.  The  mausoleum  is  built  on  a broad 
terrace  of  white  marble  at  a height  of  270  feet, 
overhanging  the  Jumna  ; and  the  impressive,  har- 
monious outline  commands  the  plain  from  afar. 

Legends  have  gathered  round  the  Taj  Mahal 
as  about  every  old  building  in  India,  and  this  one 
seems  to  me  not  impossible  in  its  barbarity. 

When  the  last  stone  was  placed,  Shah  Jehan  sent 
for  the  architect  and  went  with  him  to  the  top  of 
the  mausoleum. 

“ Could  you  design  another  tomb  as  beautiful  as 
this  ? ” asked  the  emperor. 

And  on  the  man’s  replying  that  he  would  try, 
the  sultan,  who  chose  that  the  monument  should 
have  no  rival,  caused  the  architect  to  be  thrown 
into  the  Jumna  on  the  spot,  where  he  was  dashed 
to  pieces  at  the  foot  of  his  masterpiece,  which 
remains  unique. 

The  fort,  rising  from  a rock  wall  of  rose-red 
sandstone,  is  reached  by  a series  of  drawbridges 
and  bastions,  now  no  longer  needed  and  open  to  all 
comers. 

The  central  square,  formerly  the  Sultan  Akbar’s 
garden,  is  now  a parade-ground  for  soldiers,  and 
barracks  occupy  the  site  of  ruined  palaces.  Still 
206 


AGRA 


some  remains  of  ancient  splendour  are  to  be  seen 
that  have  escaped  the  vandals. 

Here,  a white  marble  mosque  with  three  flights 
of  open  arcades,  with  white  domes  to  roof  it,  is 
paved  with  rectangular  flags,  each  bordered  with 
a fillet  of  black  marble  ending  in  an  arch-like  point, 
immovable  prayer-carpets  turned  towards  Mecca. 
Behind  the  marble  lattices  that  form  one  wall  of 
this  mosque,  the  women  of  the  zenana  come  to  hear 
the  moollah  recite  prayer. 

Under  a loggia,  flowery  with  mosaics  of  jasper 
and  carnelian,  the  emperor,  seated  on  a white 
marble  throne  embroidered  with  carving,  adminis- 
tered justice.  At  his  feet,  on  a raised  stone  flag, 
the  divan,  his  prime  minister  took  down  the 
despot’s  words,  to  transmit  them  to  the  people  who 
were  kept  at  a respectful  distance  under  a colonnade, 
forming  a verandah  round  the  imperial  palace. 

And  this  morning  I had  seen  in  the  place  of 
Akbar  or  Jehangir,  a sturdy,  blowsy  soldier,  in  his 
red  coatee,  his  feet  raised  higher  than  his  head, 
spread  out  in  his  wicker  deck-chair,  and  reading 
the  latest  news  just  brought  by  the  mail  from 
Europe. 

The  sultana’s  mosque  is  quite  small,  of  trans- 
lucent milky-white  marble,  and  close  by  it  is  a 
207 


ENCHANTED  INDIA 


red  wall,  hardly  pierced  by  a narrow  window  with 
a stone  screen,  behind  which  Shah  Jehangir  was 
kept  a prisoner  for  seven  years. 

Dewani  Khas,  the  great  hall  of  audience,  on 
columns  open  on  all  sides  to  the  sky  and  landscape, 
overlooks  a pit  about  thirty  paces  away  where  tigers 
and  elephants  fought  to  divert  the  sultan  and  his 
court.  At  the  threshold  is  a large  block  of  black 
marble — the  throne  of  Akbar  the  Great.  At  the 
time  of  the  incursion  of  the  Jats,  who  drove  the 
emperor  from  his  palace,  as  soon  as  the  usurper  took 
his  seat,  the  stone,  the  legend  tells,  split  and  shed 
blood ; the  iridescent  stain  remains  to  this  day. 

Above  the  throne,  in  the  white  marble  wall,  is  a 
round  hole,  the  mark  of  a cannon-ball  at  the  time 
of  the  Mutiny.  Out  of  this  came  a parrot,  gravely 
perching  to  scratch  its  poll ; then,  alarmed  at  seeing 
us  so  close,  it  retired  into  its  hole  again. 

Further  on  we  came  to  a courtyard  surrounded  by 
a cloister,  where  the  market  for  precious  stones  was 
held.  The  empress,  invisible  under  her  wrappers  of 
gauze  as  thin  as  air,  and  surrounded  by  her  women 
fanning  her,  would  come  out  on  her  high  balcony  to 
choose  the  gems  that  pleased  her  for  a moment  by 
their  sparkle,  and  then  disappear  into  the  gardens 
behind  insurmountable  walls.  In  another  court,  a 

208 


AGRA 


pool  kept  stocked  with  fish  gave  Shah  Jehangir  the 
pleasure  of  fancying  he  was  fishing. 

At  one  corner  of  a bastion  of  the  rampart  rises 
the  Jasmine  tower,  the  empress’s  pavilion,  built  of 
amber-toned  marble  inlaid  with  gold  and  mother- 
of-pearl.  A double  wall  of  pierced  lattice,  as  fine 
as  a hand-screen,  enclosed  the  octagon  chamber ; 
the  doors,  which  were  of  massive  silver  jewelled 
with  rubies,  have  been  removed.  The  golden  lilies 
inlaid  in  the  panels  have  also  disappeared,  roughly 
torn  out  and  leaving  the  glint  of  their  presence  in 
a warmer  hue,  still  faintly  metallic.  Recesses  in 
the  wall,  like  porticoes,  served  for  hanging  dresses 
in,  and  low  down,  holes  large  enough  to  admit  the 
hand,  were  hiding-places  for  jewels,  between  two 
slabs  of  marble.  In  front  of  the  sultana’s  kiosk, 
basins  in  the  form  of  shells,  from  which  rose- 
water poured  forth,  go  down  like  steps  to  a tank 
below. 

The  subterranean  passage  leading  from  the 
empress’s  rooms  to  the  mosque,  has  in  the  roof 
a thick  flagstone  that  admits  a subdued  glimmer 
as  through  amber  or  honey,  lighting  up  all  one 
end  of  the  dark  corridor. 

The  sultan’s  bath  is  lined  with  panels  of  lapis 
lazuli  framed  in  gold,  and  inlaid  with  mother-of- 
p 209 


ENCHANTED  INDIA 


pearl,  or  looking-glass,  and  the  walls  have  little 
hollow  niches  for  lamps,  over  which  the  water  fell 
in  a shower  into  a bath  with  a decoration  of  scroll- 
work. And  in  front  of  Jehangir’s  room,  again  a 
series  of  basins  hollowed  in  the  steps  of  a broad 
marble  stair,  where  a stream  of  water  fell  from 
one  to  another. 

We  saw  the  Jasmine  tower  from  a corner  of  the 
garden  in  the  glow  of  sunset.  With  its  gilt  cupola 
blazing  in  the  low  beams,  its  amber-hued  walls  as 
transparent  as  melting  wax,  and  its  pierced  screen- 
work,  it  looked  so  diaphanous,  so  fragile,  that  it  might 
be  carried  away  by  the  evening  breeze.  And  beyond 
the  pavilion,  above  the  ramparts  carved  with  huge 
elephants,  lies  the  old  Hindoo  palace,  deserted  by 
Jehangir  for  his  house  of  pale  marbles — an  endless 
palace,  a labyrinth  of  red  buildings  loaded  to  the 
top  with  an  agglomeration  of  ornament  supporting 
flat  roofs.  And  pagodas  that  have  lost  their  doors, 
a work  of  destruction  begun  by  Aurungzeeb.  One 
court  is  still  intact,  overhung  by  seventy  - two 
balconies,  where  the  zenana  could  look  on  at  the 
dancing  of  bayaderes.  Perfect,  too,  is  the  queen’s 
private  apartment,  with  two  walls  between  which 
an  army  kept  guard  by  day  and  by  night. 


210 


AGRA 


A road  between  ancient  trees  and  green  fields 
which  are  perpetually  irrigated  leads  to  Sicandra- 
Bagh.  Here,  at  the  end  of  a wretched  village 
of  huts  and  hovels,  is  the  magnificence  of  a stately 
portal  of  red  stone  broadly  decorated  with  white;  and 
then,  through  a garden  where  trees  and  shrubs  make 
one  huge  bouquet,  behold  the  imposing  mass  of  the 
tomb  of  Akbar  the  Great.  The  mausoleum  is  on 
the  scale  of  a cathedral.  There  are  two  stories 
of  galleries  in  pink  sandstone  crowned  by  a 
marble  pavilion  with  lace-like  walls ; and  there, 
high  up,  is  the  sarcophagus  of  white  stone,  covered 
with  inscriptions  setting  forth  the  nineteen  names  of 
Allah. 

Near  this  tomb  is  a stele  with  the  dish  on 
the  top  of  it  in  which  the  Koh-i-noor  was  found. 
In  the  crypt  of  the  mosque,  at  the  end  of  a passage, 
is  a vaulted  room  lined  with  stucco  and  devoid  of 
ornament,  and  here  is  the  burial  place  of  Akbar,  a 
mound  covered  with  lime.  The  sarcophagus  above, 
at  the  foot  of  which  the  Koh-i-noor  once  blazed,  is 
but  the  replica  of  this. 

This  cell  is  as  dark  as  a cellar,  barbarously  squalid. 
But  to  all  our  questions  the  moollah  who  was  our 
guide  only  replied : 

“Nothing  could  be  fine  enough  to  be  worthy  of 
211 


ENCHANTED  INDIA 


Akbar,  so  this  was  made  in  a hurry  that  he  might 
at  least  rest  in  peace  without  delay.” 

In  the  heart  of  Agra  towards  evening  people  were 
busy  in  the  square  of  the  Jumna  Musjid  stretching- 
pieces  of  stuff  over  rather  low  poles  to  form  a tent. 
Then  in  long  file  came  the  labourers  from  a famine- 
camp,  with  their  sleep-walking  gait,  their  glassy 
eyes,  their  teeth  showing  like  those  of  a grinning 
skull.  Eags  in  a thousand  holes  scarcely  covered 
the  horrors  of  their  fleshless  bodies. 

The  children  of  the  bazaar  watched  them  pass, 
holding  out  in  their  fingers  scraps  of  food — the 
remains  of  cakes,  green  fruit,  or  handfuls  of  rice, 
and  the  famishing  creatures  quarrelled  for  the 
morsels,  frightening  the  little  ones,  who  fled.  Then 
they  disappeared  silently  under  the  awnings,  filling 
the  air  with  a smell  of  dust  and  pepper,  scaring  the 
pigeons  away  from  the  pool  for  ablutions,  and  the 
birds  fluttered  up  in  dismay  in  the  rosy  sunset  glow, 
seeking  some  other  refuge  for  the  night. 


212 


JEYPOOR 


JEYPOOR 

Broad  streets  crossing  each  other  at  right  angles ; 
houses,  palaces,  archways  flanked  by  towers,  and 
colonnades,  all  alike  covered  with  pink-washed 
plaster  decorated  with  white.  And  all  the  buildings 
have  the  hasty,  temporary  appearance  of  a town 
run  up  for  an  exhibition  to  last  only  a few  months. 

There  is  a never-ending  traffic  of  elephants, 
baggage-camels,  and  vehicles  with  shouting  drivers  ; 
and  on  the  ground  are  spread  heaps  of  fruit,  baskets 
for  sale,  glass  baubles  and  weapons.  In  all  the 
pink  and  white  throng  not  an  European  dress  is 
to  be  seen,  not  even  one  of  the  vile  compounds 
adopted  by  the  baboo,  a striped  flannel  jacket  over 
the  dhoti.  Men  and  women  alike  wear  necklaces 
of  flowers,  or  flowers  in  their  hair ; the  children  are 
gaudy  with  trinkets  and  glass  beads. 

The  Rajah’s  residence,  of  plaster  like  the  rest 
of  the  town,  is  pink  too  outside,  but  the  interior  is 
aggressive  with  paint  of  harsh  colours.  In  the 
living  rooms  is  shabby  furniture,  gilt  chairs  turned 
one  over  the  other,  as  on  the  day  after  a ball.  The 
curtains  over  the  doors  and  windows  are  of  silk, 
213 


ENCHANTED  INDIA 


but  frayed  and  threadbare.  In  the  shade  of  a 
marble  court  with  carved  columns,  clerks  are 
employed  in  counting  money  — handsome  coins 
stamped  with  flowers  and  Indian  characters,  laid  out 
in  rows.  They  count  them  into  bags  round  which 
soldiers  mount  guard. 

Outside  the  palace  is  a large  garden,  devoid  of 
shade,  with  pools  of  water  bowered  in  flowers  and 
shrubs  that  shelter  myriads  of  singing  birds.  At 
the  end  of  the  park  is  a tank  full  of  crocodiles.  A 
keeper  called  the  brutes,  and  they  came  up  facing 
us  in  a row,  their  jaws  open  to  catch  the  food 
which  the  Rajah  amuses  himself  by  throwing  to 
them. 

In  the  bazaar  a light,  glossy  cheetah  was  being 
led  round  for  an  airing.  The  beast  had  on  a sort  of 
hood  of  silk  stuck  with  peacock’s  feathers,  which  its 
keeper  pulled  down  over  its  eyes  when  it  saw  a 
prey  on  which  it  was  eager  to  spring ; and  with 
its  eyes  thus  blinded,  it  would  lick  the  hand  that 
gave  it  an  anna  with  a hot  tongue  as  rough  as  a 
rasp. 

A salesman  of  whom  I had  bought  several  things, 
wishing  to  do  me  a civility,  called  a tom-tom  player, 
who  was  to  escort  me  home  rapping  on  his  ass’s 

214 


JEYPOOR 


skin ; and  when  I declined  very  positively,  the  poor 
man  murmured  with  a piteous,  crushed  look  : 

“ What  a pity  that  the  sahib  does  not  like 
music ! ” 

All  about  the  town  of  pink  plaster,  in  the  dust  of 
the  roads  and  fields,  are  an  endless  number  of  dead 
temples — temples  of  every  size  and  of  every  period  ; 
and  all  deserted,  all  empty ; even  those  that  are 
uninjured  look  like  ruins. 

And  for  an  hour  as  we  drove  along  towards 
Amber,  the  old  town  deserted  in  favour  of  modern 
Jeypoor,  the  same  succession  of  temples  wheeled 
past.  The  crenated  walls  enclose  three  hills,  one 
of  them  crowned  by  a fortress,  to  defend  erewhile 
the  white  palace  mirrored  in  the  waters  of  an 
artificial  lake. 

All  round  the  Rajah’s  palace  crowds  a town  of 
palaces,  mosques,  and  temples  dedicated  to  Vishnu ; 
and  outside  the  walls,  on  a plain  lying  between  the 
hills  of  Amber,  is  another  town,  still  thick  with 
ruins  amid  the  forest  of  encroaching  trees.  And 
it  is  all  dead,  deserted,  dust-coloured,  unspeakably 
sad,  with  the  sadness  of  destruction  and  desertion  in 
the  midst  of  a landscape  gorgeous  with  flowers  and 
groves.  In  the  palace  of  Amber,  guides  make  a good 
215 


ENCHANTED  INDIA 


business  of  showing  us  the  public  rooms,  baths,  and 
bedrooms,  all  restored  with  an  eye  to  the  tourist. 
In  the  gardens,  heavy  with  perfume,  the  trees 
display  swinging  balls  of  baked  earth  full  of  holes, 
which  protect  the  ripening  fruit  from  the  monkeys ; 
a whole  tribe  of  them  scampered  off  at  our  approach, 
and  went  to  torment  the  peacocks  that  were 
solemnly  promenading  a path,  and  that  presently 
flew  away. 


DELHI. 

In  the  centre  of  the  modern  fort,  a belt  of  walls 
with  gates  that  form  palaces  under  the  arches,  is 
the  ancient  residence  of  the  Moguls.  Beyond 
the  barracks  full  of  native  and  English  soldiers, 
we  reached  the  cool  silence  of  the  throne -room. 
Colonnades  of  red  stone  surround  a throne  of  white 
marble  inlaid  with  lilies  in  carnelian  on  tall  stems 
of  jasper.  All  round  this  throne,  to  protect  it  from 
the  tourists,  but  also  as  if  to  emphasize  its  vanity, 
is  a railing. 

On  the  very  edge  of  the  Jumna,  where  russet 
fields  break  the  monotony  of  its  white  sandy  banks, 
is  the  private  state-room,  the  residence  of  the 
sovereigns  of  Delhi,  built  of  translucent  milky 

216 


DELHI 


marble,  warmed  by  the  reflection  of  gold  inlaid 
on  the  columns  and  merged  with  the  stone  that  is 
turned  to  amber. 

Under  the  white  dome  a wooden  ceiling,  gilt  in 
the  hollows  of  the  carving,  has  taken  the  place  of 
an  earlier  ceiling  of  massive  silver,  worth  seventy 
lacs  of  rupees,  which  was  carried  off  by  the  con- 
querors after  some  long-ago  seizure  of  the  city. 
Inside,  by  way  of  walls,  are  carvings  in  marble  of 
twisted  lilies,  inconceivably  graceful  and  light. 
And  then,  at  one  of  the  entrances,  those  marble 
lattices,  once  gilt  and  now  bereft  of  their  gold,  look 
just  like  topaz  in  the  midday  sun.  After  that  magic 
splendour  of  gold  and  marbles  fused  to  topaz  and 
amber,  the  rest  of  the  palace — the  sleeping-rooms, 
the  couches  inlaid  with  mosaic  flowers,  the  pierced 
stone  balconies  overlooking  the  Jumna — ull  seemed 
commonplace  and  familiar. 

From  a quite  small  garden  close  to  the  palace  a 
bronze  gate  with  three  medallions  of  lilies  in  high 
relief,  of  marvellous  workmanship,  opens  on  the 
Pearl  Mosque,  exquisitely  white,  at  the  end  of  its 
forecourt  of  immaculate  pavement  enclosed  by  a 
marble  balustrade.  Three  polished  and  shining 
domes  are  supported  by  columns  of  snow  made 
of  a hard  white  marble,  scarcely  broken  by  orna- 

217 


ENCHANTED  INDIA 


rnent,  and  carrying  a roof  hollowed  into  three 
vaults.  The  rings  are  still  to  be  seen  on  the 
marble  walls  outside,  to  which,  when  the  great 
Mogul  came  to  prayer,  curtains  were  attached  made 
of  gold  net  and  spangled  with  diamonds  and  pearls. 

In  the  evening  I was  to  dine  with  the  officers  of 
the  Artillery  mess,  and  in  going  I lost  my  way. 
Suddenly  before  me  stood  the  amber  palace,  with 
blue  shadows,  moon-coloured,  the  carvings  like  opal 
in  changing  hues  of  precious  gems.  Half  hidden 
by  a growth  of  jasmine  that  loaded  the  air  with 
fragrance,  up  rose  the  cupolas  of  the  little  mosque, 
like  pearls  reflecting  the  sparkle  of  the  stars. 

Outside  the  town  of  Delhi  a road  bordered  by 
great  trees  leads  across  the  white  plain,  all  strewn 
with  temples  and  tombs,  to  Khoutab,  the  ancient 
capital  of  the  Moguls — a dead  city,  where  the  ruins 
still  standing  in  many  places  speak  of  a past  of 
unimaginable  splendour.  There  is  a colossal  tower 
of  red  masonry  that  springs  from  the  soil  with  no 
basement ; it  is  reeded  from  top  to  bottom,  gradually 
growing  thinner  as  it  rises,  with  fillets  of  letters  in 
relief,  and  balconies  on  brackets  as  light  as  ribbands 
alternating  to  the  top.  It  is  an  enormous  mass  of 
red  stone,  which  the  ages  have  scarcely  discoloured, 
218 


DELHI 


and  was  built  by  Khoutab-Oudeen  Eibek  to  com- 
memorate his  victory  over  the  Sultan  Pithri-Raj, 
the  triumph  of  Islam  over  Brahminism. 

To  reach  this  tower  in  its  garden  of  flowering 
shrubs  the  way  is  under  the  Alandin  gate  of  pink 
sandstone ; the  name  evokes  a tale  of  wonder,  and 
the  pointed  arch,  exquisitely  noble  in  its  curve,  looks 
like  pale  vellum,  graven  all  over  with  ornaments, 
and  inscriptions  to  the  glory  of  Allah. 

Close  to  the  monumental  trophy  of  Khoutab  is  a 
temple  with  columns  innumerable,  and  all  different, 
overloaded  with  carvings  incised  and  in  relief,  with 
large  capitals;  beams  meet  and  cross  under  the  roof, 
also  carved  in  the  ponderous  stone,  and  the  whole 
forms  a cloister  round  a court ; while  in  the  centre, 
amid  Moslem  tombs,  an  iron  pillar  stands,  eight 
metres  high,  a pillar  of  which  there  are  seven 
metres  sunk  in  the  ground — a colossal  casting 
placed  here  in  317,  when  half  the  civilized  world 
was  as  yet  ignorant  of  the  art  of  working  in  metal. 
An  inscription  records  that  “ King  Dhava,  a wor- 
shipper of  Vishnu,  set  up  this  pillar  to  commemorate 
his  victory  over  the  Belikas  of  Sindhu.” 

And  side  by  side  with  history  a pleasing  legend 
tells  that  King  Anang-Pal  yearned  to  atone  for  his 
faults  and  redeem  the  earth  from  sin.  So  by  the 
210 


ENCHANTED  INDIA 


counsels  of  a wise  Brahmin  he  caused  this  vast  iron 
spike  to  be  forged  by  giants,  to  be  driven  into  the 
earth  and  pierce  the  serpent  Sechnaga,  who  upholds 
the  world.  The  deed  was  done,  but  because  certain 
disbelieving  men  denied  that  the  monster  was  dead, 
the  king  caused  the  weapon  to  be  pulled  up,  and  at 
the  end  of  it  behold  the  stain  of  blood ; so  the  iron 
beam  was  driven  in  again.  But  the  spell  was 
broken — the  creature  had  escaped.  The  column 
remained  unstable,  prefiguring  the  end  of  the 
dynasty  of  Auang,  and  the  serpent  still  works  his 
wicked  will. 

Only  one  entrance  to  the  temple  remains,  built 
of  polished  red  stone  mingled  harmoniously  with 
marble,  toned  by  time  to  a warm  golden  hue  almost 
rose-colour.  All  the  profusion  of  Indian  design  is 
lavished  on  this  gateway  framing  the  marvel 
erected  by  Pal.  Tangles  of  interlacing  letters  in- 
cised and  in  relief,  mingling  with  trails  of  flowers 
as  lissom  as  climbing  plants,  and  supporting  figures 
of  gods ; while  a fine  powdering  of  white  dust  over 
the  dimmed  warm  yellow  of  marble  and  sandstone 
softens  yet  more  the  carved  flowers  and  sinuous 
patterns,  amid  which  the  images  sit  in  tranquil 
attitudes. 

A roofless  mausoleum  is  that  of  the  Sultan 
220 


DELHI 


Altamsh,  who  desired  to  sleep  for  ever  with  no 
vault  over  his  tomb  but  that  of  the  heavens;  a 
vast  hall,  its  walls  wrought  with  inscriptions  in 
Persian,  Hindostanee,  and  Arabic,  built  of  brick- 
red  granite  and  yellow  marble  softened  to  pale 
orange  in  the  golden  sunshine.  Here  and  there 
traces  may  be  seen  of  wall-paintings,  green  and 
blue,  but  quite  faded,  and  now  merely  a darker 
shadow  round  the  incised  ornament.  Hibiscus 
shrubs  mingle  their  branches  over  the  tomb  and 
drop  large  blood-red  blossoms  on  the  stone  sarco- 
phagus. Further  on  is  another  mausoleum,  in  such 
good  preservation  that  it  has  been  utilized  as  a 
bungalow  for  some  official. 

After  passing  the  temples  and  tombs  that  sur- 
round the  Khoutab,  the  town  of  ruins  lies  scattered 
over  the  plain  of  pale  sand  and  withered  herbage. 

A prodigious  palace  has  left  the  skeleton  of  its 
walls  pierced  with  large  windows,  and  in  the 
blackened  stone,  almost  at  the  top  of  the  building,  a 
balcony  with  a canopy  over  it,  resting  on  fragile 
columns,  is  still  uninjured ; of  a pale  yellow,  like 
lemon -tree  wood,  it  looks  as  if  it  had  come  into 
existence  only  yesterday,  a flower  risen  from  the 
death  of  the  ruins. 

Huge  vultures  were  prowling  about  the  place. 

221 


ENCHANTED  INDIA 


At  our  approach  they  flapped  a little  away,  and 
then  perching  on  a heap  of  stones  preened  their 
feathers  with  clumsy,  ungraceful  movements. 

A tank  here  is  deep  below  ground,  down  three 
flights  of  galleries.  Quite  at  the  bottom  is  a little 
stagnant  water,  into  which  children  leap  from  the 
top  of  the  structure,  a plunge  of  twenty  metres, 
ending  in  a great  splash  of  green  mud  that  smells 
of  water-lilies  and  grease. 

More  and  yet  more  palaces ; remains  of  marble 
porticoes  and  columns,  walls  covered  with  tiles 
glittering  in  the  blazing  sunshine  like  topaz  and 
emerald ; and  over  all  the  peace  of  dust  and  death, 
the  only  moving  thing  those  vultures,  in  shades  of 
dull  grey  almost  indistinguishable  from  the  colour 
of  the  stones. 

And  suddenly,  emerging  from  the  ruins,  we  came 
on  a Moslem  street  with  high  walls,  windowless, 
and  waving  plumes  of  banyan  and  palm  trees  rising 
above  the  houses. 

At  the  top  of  the  street  a caravan  of  moollahs 
were  performing  their  devotions  at  the  tomb  of  a 
Mohammedan  saint,  whose  sarcophagus  was  en- 
closed within  a balustrade  of  marble  and  a border 
of  lilies,  alternately  yellow  and  green,  with  large 
full-blown  flowers  in  blue,  fragile  relics  that  have 

222 


DELHI 


survived  for  centuries  amid  ruins  that  are  com- 
paratively recent. 

The  road  goes  on.  Trees  cast  their  shade  on 
the  flagstone  pavement,  but  between  the  houses 
and  through  open  windows  the  sandy  plain  may 
be  seen,  the  endless  whiteness  lost  in  a horizon  of 
dust. 

And  again  ruins.  Under  an  archway  still  left 
standing  on  piers  carved  with  lilies  and  foliage,  lay 
a whole  family  of  pariahs  covered  with  leprosy  and 
sores. 

Close  to  a village  that  has  sprouted  under  the 
baobab-trees,  in  the  midst  of  the  plain  that  once 
was  Khoutab,  in  the  court  of  a mosque,  is  the 
marble  sarcophagus  of  a princess.  Grass  is  growing 
in  the  hollow  of  the  stone  that  covers  her,  in  fulfil- 
ment of  the  wishes  of  the  maiden,  who  in  her 
humility  desired  that  when  she  was  dead  she  should 
be  laid  to  rest  under  the  common  earth  whence  the 
grass  grows  in  the  spring.  And  not  far  from  the 
rajah’s  daughter,  under  a broad  tamarind  tree,  in 
the  blue  shade,  is  the  tomb  of  Kushru,  the  poet 
who  immortalized  Bagh-o-Bahar.  On  the  sarco- 
phagus, in  the  little  kiosk,  was  a kerchief  of  silk 
and  gold,  with  a wreath  of  fresh  flowers  renewed 
every  day  by  the  faithful. 

223 


ENCHANTED  INDIA 


A humble  poet,  more  venerated  than  the  kings 
whose  superb  mausoleums  are  crumbling  to  dust  in 
subjugated  India,  who,  though  she  forgets  her  past, 
is  still  true  to  her  dreams. 

Another  magnificent  temple,  with  marble  arcades 
wrought  to  filigree,  curved  in  frilled  arches,  on 
spindle  - like  columns  that  soar  to  support  the 
cupolas,  as  light  as  flower  - stems.  A gem  of 
whiteness  and  sheen  in  the  desert  of  ruins  where 
yet  stand  three  matchless  marvels : the  tower  of 
Khoutab,  the  gate  of  Alandin,  and  the  column  of 
Dhava. 

Toglackabad,  again  an  ancient  Delhi,  a rock  on 
the  bank  of  the  Jumna  after  crossing  a white 
desert;  walls  of  granite,  massive  bastions,  battle- 
mented  towers  of  a Saracen  stamp,  rough-hewn, 
devoid  of  ornament,  and  uniform  in  colour  — 
bluish  with  light  patches  of  lichen.  The  enclosure 
has  crumbled  into  ruin,  in  places  making  breaches 
in  the  walls,  which  nevertheless  preserve  the  for- 
bidding aspect  of  an  impregnable  citadel. 

Entering  by  one  of  the  fourteen  gates  in  the 
ramparts  of  stone  blocks  scarcely  hewn  into  shape, 
the  city  of  palaces  and  mosques  is  found  in  ruins, 
matching  the  fortifications,  without  any  decoration, 

224 


DELHI 


and  all  of  the  same  cold  grey  hue,  like  a city  of 
prisons. 

At  a short  distance  from  Toglackabad,  on  a solitary 
rock,  stands  a square  building  of  massive  archi- 
tecture, sober  in  outline,  and  crowned  by  a stone 
dome.  It  dwells  alone,  surrounded  by  walls ; the 
mausoleum  of  Toglack,  containing  his  tomb  with 
that  of  his  wife  and  his  son,  Mohammed  the  Cruel. 

And  there  are  ruins  all  the  way  to  Delhi,  whither 
we  returned  by  the  old  fortress  of  Purana  Kila,  with 
its  pink  walls  overlooked  by  a few  aerial  minarets 
and  more  traces  of  graceful  carving,  the  precursors 
of  the  Divan  i Khas  and  Moti  Musjid  the  Pearl 
Mosque. 

In  the  town  camels  were  harnessed  to  a sort  of 
carriage  like  a hut  perched  on  misshapen  wheels, 
and  rumbling  slowly  through  the  streets,  seeming 
very  heavy  at  the  heels  of  the  big  beast  with  its 
shambling  gait. 

To  the  Chandni  Chowk — the  bazaar.  In  a minia- 
ture-painter’s shop  was  a medley  of  ivories,  of  boxes 
inlaid  with  silver  and  ebony,  and  toys  carved  in 
sandal-wood. 

The  artist  sat  at  work  in  a corner  of  the  window, 
copying  minutely,  for  the  thousandth  time  perhaps, 
a Taj  or  a Moti  Musjid.  Quite  unmoved  while  his 
Q 225 


ENCHANTED  INDIA 


shopman  displayed  his  wares,  he  worked  on  with 
brushes  as  fine  as  needles ; but  when,  on  leaving, 
I asked  him  where  I could  procure  some  colours 
I needed,  “ Then  the  sahib  paints  ? ” said  he ; and 
he  rose  at  once,  insisted  on  my  taking  a seat,  pressed 
me  to  accept  a little  sandal-wood  frame,  as  a fellow- 
artist,  and  then  would  positively  paint  my  portrait. 

In  a little  alley  of  booths  was  a shop  with  no 
front  show,  and  behind  it  a sort  of  studio  full  of 
carvers  and  artists  working  on  sandal-wood  boxes, 
ivory  fans  as  fine  as  gauze,  and  wooden  lattices 
with  elaborate  flower  patterns,  used  to  screen  the 
zenana  windows.  And  in  little  recesses  workmen 
dressed  in  white,  with  small  copper  pots  about  them 
in  which  they  had  brought  rice  for  their  meals,  were 
chasing  and  embossing  metal  with  little  taps  of  their 
primitive  tools,  never  making  a mistake,  working 
as  their  fancy  might  suggest,  without  any  pattern, 
and  quite  at  home  in  the  maze  of  interlacing  orna- 
ment. 

In  order  that  I might  be  far  from  the  noise  of 
the  street  the  merchant  had  the  objects  I wished  to 
see  brought  to  me  in  a little  room  over  the  shop. 
Everything  was  spread  before  me  on  a white  sheet, 
in  the  middle  of  which  I sat.  Refreshments  were 
226 


DELHI 


brought,  fruits  and  sweetmeats,  while  a coolie  waved 
a large  fan  over  my  head — a huge  palm-leaf  stitched 
with  bright-hued  silks. 

In  the  distance  we  heard  a sound  of  pipes,  and 
the  merchant  hastened  out  to  call  the  nautch-girls, 
who  began  to  dance  in  the  street  just  below  us, 
among  the  vehicles  and  foot  - passengers.  There 
were  two  of  them ; one  in  a black  skirt  spangled 
with  silver  trinkets,  the  other  in  orange  and  red 
with  a head-dress  and  necklace  of  jasmine.  They 
danced  with  a gliding  step,  and  then  drew  them- 
selves up  with  a sudden  jerk  that  made  all  their 
frippery  tinkle.  Then  the  girl  in  black,  laying  her 
right  hand  on  her  breast,  stood  still,  with  only  a 
measured  swaying  movement  of  her  whole  body, 
while  the  dancer  in  yellow  circled  round,  spinning 
as  she  went.  Next  the  black  one  performed  a sort 
of  goose-step  with  her  feet  on  one  spot,  yelling  a 
so-called  tune,  and  clacking  her  anklets  one  against 
the  other.  Then,  after  a few  high  leaps  that  set  her 
saree  flying,  the  dance  was  ended ; she  drew  a black 
veil  over  her  head,  and  turned  with  her  face  to  the 
wall.  The  other  boldly  asked  for  backsheesh,  held 
up  her  hands,  and  after  getting  her  money,  begged 
for  cakes  and  sugar. 


227 


ENCHANTED  INDIA 


In  the  evening  to  the  theatre — a Parsee  theatre ; 
a large  tent,  reserved  for  women  on  one  side  by  a 
hanging  of  mats.  The  public  were  English  soldiers 
and  baboos  with  their  children,  and  in  the  cheapest 
places  a packed  crowd  of  coolies. 

The  manager  also  traded  in  clocks,  and  a selection 
was  displayed  for  sale  at  one  end  of  the  stalls. 

The  orchestra,  consisting  of  a harmonium,  a violin, 
and  a darboukha,  played  a languishing,  drawling  air 
to  a halting  rhythm,  while  the  chorus,  standing  in 
a line  on  the  stage,  sang  the  introductory  verses. 

The  actors  were  exclusively  men  and  boys,  those 
who  took  female  parts  wore  rusty  wigs  over  their 
own  long,  black  hair ; these  were  plaited  on  each 
side  of  the  face,  and  waxed  behind  to  fall  over 
the  shoulders.  The  costumes  of  velvet  and  satin, 
heavily  embroidered  with  gold  and  silver,  were 
hideous. 

The  scenery  was  preposterous : red  and  green 
flowers  growing  on  violet  boughs,  with  forests  in 
the  background  of  pink  and  yellow  trees;  per- 
spective views  of  streets,  in  which  the  houses  were 
climbing  over  each  other,  and  finally  a purple 
cavern  under  a brilliant  yellow  sky. 

The  actors  spoke  their  parts  like  lessons,  with 
a gesture  only  now  and  then,  and  invariably  wrong ; 

228 


DELHI 


and  they  all  spoke  and  sang  through  the  nose  in 
an  irritating  voice  pitched  too  high. 

The  play  was  Gul-E-Bakaoli. 

King  Zainulmulook  has  lost  his  sight,  and  can 
recover  it  only  if  someone  will  bring  to  him  a 
miraculous  flowrer  from  the  garden  of  Bakaoli.  His 
four  sons  set  out  in  search  of  it.  Zainulmulook 
has  a fifth  son,  named  Tazulmulook.  At  the  birth 
of  this  child  the  king  has  had  his  horoscope  cast 
by  the  astrologers  of  the  palace,  who  declared  that 
the  king  would  become  blind  if  he  should  see  his  son 
before  his  twelfth  year ; but  hunting  one  day  the 
king  has  met  Tazulmulook,  who  was  walking  in 
the  forest,  and  has  lost  his  sight. 

In  a jungle  we  now  see  Tazulmulook  banished 
and  solitary,  and  he  relates  his  woes. 

The  four  sons  of  the  king  presently  come  to 
a town.  They  ring  at  the  door  of  a house  in- 
habited by  a woman  who,  as  the  little  English 
translation  tells  us,  carries  on  a foul  trade,  and 
Dilbar  the  dancing-girl  appears. 

This  Dilbar  was  a boy  with  a more  woolly  wig 
than  the  others,  and  to  emphasize  her  sex  wore 
a monstrous  display  of  trinkets  round  her  neck 
and  arms,  in  her  ears  and  nose. 

Dilbar  dances  and  sings  before  the  brothers,  and 
229 


ENCHANTED  INDIA 


then  proposes  to  play  cards.  The  stake  is  the 
liberty  of  the  loser.  The  four  princes  play  against 
the  dancing-girl,  who  wins  and  has  them  imprisoned 
on  the  spot. 

Tazulmulook  arrives  in  the  same  town,  and  is 
on  the  point  of  ringing  at  Dilbar’s  door  when  he 
is  hindered  by  his  father’s  vizier,  who  tells  him 
how  many  times  this  dangerous  woman  has  been 
the  ruin  of  kings’  sons.  But  Tazulmulook,  in  a 
discourse  on  valour  addressed  to  the  audience,  who 
stamped  applause,  rejects  the  counsels  of  prudence 
and  rings  at  the  dancer’s  door.  Tazulmulook  wins 
the  game  with  Dilbar,  and  compels  her  to  release 
his  brothers,  but  only  after  branding  each  on  the 
back  of  his  neck. 

The  young  prince  then  goes  on  his  way  in  search 
of  the  magical  flower.  He  is  about  to  rest  awhile 
in  a cavern,  but  at  the  moment  when  he  lies  down 
on  a stone  it  is  transformed  into  a monster  made  of 
bladder,  which  rears  itself  enraged  in  the  air  with 
a trumpet-cry.  By  good  luck  the  king’s  son  calls 
upon  the  aid  of  the  prophet  Suleiman,  whom  the 
dragon  also  reveres,  and  the  pacified  monster  con- 
veys Tazulmulook  to  the  garden  of  Bakaoli,  and, 
moreover,  gives  him  a ring  which  will  be  a talisman 
in  danger. 


230 


DELHI 


Tazulmulook  finds  Bakaoli  asleep  in  her  garden, 
and  after  plucking  the  miraculous  flower  he  ex- 
changes the  ring  for  that  of  the  princess  and 
departs.  Bakaoli  awakes,  and  discovering  the  theft 
of  the  flower  and  of  her  ring  is  much  disturbed, 
and  gives  orders  that  the  thief  is  to  be  caught. 

Tazulmulook  on  his  way  meets  a blind  man, 
whom  he  restores  to  sight  by  the  help  of  the 
magical  flower ; the  man  relates  the  story  of  the 
cure  to  the  four  brothers,  who  quickly  follow  up 
Tazulmulook  and  presently  overtake  him.  After 
a short  conflict  they  rob  him  of  the  talisman  and 
fly.  The  young  prince  is  in  despair,  but  as  he 
wrings  his  hands  he  rubs  Bakaoli’s  ring  and  the 
dragon  instantly  appears.  Tazulmulook  commands 
him  forthwith  to  build  a palace  in  front  of  that  of 
King  Zainulmulook. 

While  all  this  is  going  forward  in  the  jungle, 
Bakaoli,  disguised  as  an  astrologer,  comes  to  the 
king,  to  whom  she  promises  the  coming  of  the 
miraculous  flower,  and  even  while  she  is  speaking 
the  return  of  the  four  princes  is  announced. 

The  old  king  is  at  once  cured ; he  embraces  his 
sons  again  and  again.  After  this  emotion  the 
first  thing  he  remarks  is  the  new  palace  that  has 
sprung  from  the  ground  exactly  opposite  his  own. 

231 


ENCHANTED  INDIA 


He,  with  his  four  sons,  goes  to  pay  a call  on 
Tazulmulook,  whom  he  does  not  recognize  in  his 
palace,  when  suddenly  Dilbar  arrives  to  claim  her 
prisoners.  The  fifth  son  then  relates  to  the  king 
the  deeds  of  his  elder  brothers,  and  in  proof  of 
his  words  points  to  the  mark  each  of  them  bears 
on  his  neck.  The  king  anathematizes  the  princes, 
and  sends  them  to  prison,  but  loads  Tazulmulook 
with  honours  and  affection. 

Bakaoli,  having  returned  to  her  own  country, 
sends  her  confidante,  named  Ilammala,  with  a 
letter  to  Tazulmulook,  who  at  once  follows  the 
messenger.  The  prince  and  the  queen  fall  in  love 
with  each  other.  Bakaoli’s  mother  finds  them 
together,  and  furious  at  the  disobedience  of  her 
daughter,  who  is  affianced  to  another  rajah,  she 
calls  up  a djinn  to  plunge  Tazulmulook  in  a magic 
fount.  The  prince  finds  himself  transformed  into 
a devil  with  horns,  and  wanders  about  the  jungle 
once  more.  There  he  meets  a pariah  woman  with 
three  children,  who  begs  him  to  marry  her.  Tazul- 
mulook in  despair  leaps  back  into  the  spring  to 
die  there,  and  to  his  great  surprise  recovers  his 
original  shape. 

Bakaoli  bewails  her  lover’s  departure,  for  which 
no  one,  not  even  her  mother,  can  comfort  her. 

232 


AMRITSUR 


Tazulmulook,  again  an  outcast  in  the  jungle, 
rescues  a lady  related  to  Bakaoli  from  the  embrace 
of  a demon,  and  she  in  gratitude  takes  the  prince 
to  Bakaoli’s  court.  So  at  last  the  lovers  are  united 
and  married. 

This  interminable  piece,  with  twenty  changes  of 
scene,  dragged  its  weary  length  till  two  in  the 
morning.  One  by  one  the  soldiers  went  away ; 
even  the  baboos  soon  followed  them,  and  only  the 
coolies  remained,  enthusiastically  applauding  every 
scene,  every  harangue,  in  a frenzy  of  delight,  before 
the  final  apotheosis  of  Tazulmulook  and  Bakaoli, 
as  man  and  wife,  lovingly  united  against  a back- 
ground of  trees  with  golden  boughs. 


AMRITSUR 

In  the  midst  of  the  Lake  of  Immortality  stands 
a marble  temple  with  a roof  and  decorations  of 
gold.  All  round  the  sacred  lake  palaces  of  delicate 
hue  form  a circle  about  the  sanctuary,  which  glistens 
in  the  sun,  its  gilding  and  pale-tinted  marbles  re- 
flected like  the  gleam  of  precious  stones  in  the 
calm,  sheeny,  deeply  transparent  water. 

A causeway  of  white  stone,  with  a fragile  balus- 
233 


ENCHANTED  INDIA 


trade  and  columns  bearing  lanterns  of  gold,  leads 
from  the  shore  to  the  temple. 

Inside  the  building,  under  a silken  Persian  rug, 
stretched  like  an  awning,  there  were  piles  of  coin 
on  a cloth  spread  on  the  ground,  with  flowers,  rice, 
and  sweetmeats  offered  there.  In  a recess  was  a 
band  of  musicians — tom-toms  and  fiddles — scarcely 
audible  in  the  turmoil  of  shouted  prayers  and  the 
chatter  of  the  faithful. 

At  the  end  of  a passage  that  runs  round  the 
temple  an  old  woman  who  had  just  been  bathing 
was  changing  her  wet  saree  for  a dry  one,  and 
appeared  quite  stripped,  dropping  her  garments, 
and  careful  only  not  to  let  her  face  be  seen. 

There  was  at  the  top  of  the  temple  a sarcophagus 
in  a shrine,  on  which  were  masses  of  impalpable 
silk  gauze  embroidered  with  gold,  which  looked  like 
a peacock’s  breast,  so  subtle  were  the  transparent 
colours  lying  one  above  another — green,  blue,  and 
yellow  predominating,  gauze  so  light  that  the 
slightest  breath  set  it  floating  in  glistening  and 
changing  hues ; and  on  the  snowy  white  pavement 
of  the  floor  was  strewn  a carpet  of  very  pale  lilac 
lilies  and  mindi  flowers. 


234 


LAHOEE 


LAHORE 

The  same  ubiquitous  terminus  on  a sandy  plain, 
remote  from  everything ; then  a drive  jolting  through 
bogs,  and  we  reached  the  dirty,  scattered  town 
crowded  with  people  who  had  collected  round  a 
sort  of  fair  with  booths  for  mountebanks,  and 
roundabouts  of  wooden  horses. 

In  an  alley  of  the  bazaar  girls  were  lounging 
in  hammocks  hung  to  nails  outside  the  windows, 
smoking  and  spitting  down  on  the  world  below. 

A delightful  surprise  was  a museum  of  Indian 
art,  the  first  I had  seen,  a fine  collection  and 
admirably  arranged;*  but  the  natives  who  re- 
sorted hither  to  enjoy  the  cool  shelter  of  the 
galleries  talked  to  each  other  from  a distance,  as 
is  their  universal  custom,  at  the  top  of  their 
voices,  which  rang  doubly  loud  under  the  echoing 
vaults. 

The  ancient  palace  of  the  kings  of  Lahore.  Amid 
the  ruins  there  is  a mosque  of  red  stone  flowered 

* By  Mr.  John  Lockwood  Kipling,  for  many  years  the  curator 
and  head  of  the  art  schools  at  Lahore.  — Translator. 

235 


ENCHANTED  INDIA 


with  white  marble,  the  cupola  of  a material  so  milky 
that  it  might  be  jade;  and  the  structure  is  mirrored 
in  a pool  of  clear  water,  dappled  with  sun-sparks 
over  the  rose-coloured  stones  at  the  bottom. 

Another  mausoleum  is  of  lace -like  carving  in 
marble,  the  roof  painted  with  Persian  ornament;  and 
the  whole  thing  is  uninjured,  as  fresh  as  if  it  had 
been  wrought  yesterday,  under  the  broad  shade  of 
theobromas  and  cedars  that  have  grown  up  among 
the  ruins. 

Behind  a ponderous  wall,  dinted  all  over  by  shot, 
and  showing  broad,  light  patches  once  covered  by 
earthenware  tiles,  is  the  palace  of  Bunjeet  Singh, 
inlaid  with  enamelled  pictures  in  green,  blue,  and 
yellow  of  tiger-fights  and  horse-races,  mingling  with 
flowers  and  garlands  of  boughs.  The  durbar,  the 
hall  or  presence  chamber,  opens  by  a verandah  on  a 
forecourt  paved  with  marble ; in  its  walls  are 
mirrors  and  panels  of  coloured  glass  over  a ground 
of  dull  gold,  agate -like  tints  iridescent  with  a 
nacreous,  silvery,  luminous  lustre. 

In  one  vast  hall  were  ancient  weapons,  swords 
and  pistols,  enriched  with  precious  stones;  suits 
of  armour  damascened  with  gold,  guns  with  silver 
stocks  set  with  pearls,  and  a whole  battery  of  field- 
pieces  to  be  carried  on  camels’  backs  and  spit  out 

236 


LAHORE 


tiny  balls — enormously,  absurdly  long,  still  perched 
on  their  saddle-shaped  carriages.  And  in  a window 
bay  two  toy  cannon  made  of  gold  and  silver,  with 
which  Dhuleep  Singh  used  to  play  as  a child  before 
he  lost  his  realm. 

At  two  or  three  leagues  from  Lahore,  in  a city 
of  ruins,  opposite  a tumble -down  mosque  which 
is  strewing  a powdering  of  rose-coloured  stones 
on  its  white  marble  court,  stands  the  tomb  of 
Jehangir,  splendid,  and  more  splendid  amid  the 
squalor  that  surrounds  it. 

The  sarcophagus  rests  in  the  depths  of  a vaulted 
crypt  lighted  only  by  narrow  latticed  loopholes,  and 
it  is  shrouded  in  a mysterious  glimmer,  a mingling 
of  golden  sunbeams  and  the  reflections  from  the 
marble  walls  inlaid  with  precious  stones. 

On  the  tomb,  in  elegant  black  letters,  is  this 
inscription : 

“ Here  lies  Jehangir , Conqueror  of  the  World” 

As  we  returned  to  Lahore  the  palace  rose  before 
us  among  trees,  a strip  of  wall,  uninjured,  covered 
with  sapphire  and  emerald  tiles ; a fragile  minaret 
crowning  a tower  bowered  in  flowering  shrubs — and 
then  the  vision  was  past.  The  carriage  drove  on  for 
237 


ENCHANTED  INDIA 


a long  way  by  ruins  and  vestiges  of  beauty,  and 
re-entered  the  town,  where  lanterns  were  being 
lighted  over  the  throng  that  pushed  and  hustled 
about  the  fair. 


RAWAL  PINDI 

From  Lahore  hither  is  an  almost  uninterrupted 
series  of  encampments — English  and  native  regi- 
ments established  in  huts  in  the  open  fields  far  from 
every  town,  close  only  to  the  railway  line.  At  one 
station  a detachment  of  Indian  guards  were  drawn 
up,  and  Abibulla  declared  from  the  number  of  men 
that  they  must  be  expecting  a general  at  least ; but 
nothing  was  discharged  from  the  train  but  some 
cases  of  rupees,  checked  off  by  two  English  officers, 
and  then  carried  to  the  barracks  under  the  escort  of 
sepoys. 

This  Rawal  Pindi  is  an  English  town  of  cottages 
surrounded  by  lawns  and  shrubberies ; about  two 
streets  of  bazaar,  and  red  uniforms  everywhere, 
Highland  soldiers  in  kilts,  white  helmets,  and  the 
officers’  and  sergeants’  wives  airing  their  Sunday 
finery  in  their  buggies.  The  ladies  drive  them- 
selves, under  the  shelter  of  a sunshade  on  an  all 
238 


RAWAL  PIKDI 


too  short  stick,  painfully  held  by  a hapless  native 
servant  clinging  to  the  back  of  the  carriage  in  a 
dislocating  monkey-like  attitude. 

A regiment  of  artillery  was  marching  into 
quarters.  The  Highlanders’  band  came  out  to  meet 
them : four  bagpipes,  two  side  drums,  and  one  big 
drum.  They  repeat  the  same  short  strain,  simple 
enough,  again  and  again ; in  Europe  I should, 
perhaps,  think  it  trivial,  almost  irritating,  but  here, 
filling  me  as  it  does  with  reminiscences  of  Brittany, 
especially  after  the  persistent  horror  of  tom-toms 
and  shrill  pipes,  it  strikes  me  as  delightful — I even 
follow  the  soldiers  to  their  quarters. 

Among  the  officers  was  a young  lady  on  horse- 
back, her  black  habit  covered  with  dust.  Instead 
of  the  pith  helmet  that  the  English  ladies  disfigure 
themselves  by  wearing,  she  had  a straw  hat  with 
a long  cambric  scarf  as  a pugaree.  She  was  pretty 
and  sat  well,  and  at  the  last  turning  she  pulled 
up  and  watched  the  men,  the  ammunition  and  the 
baggage  all  march  past,  saluted  them  with  her 
switch,  and  cantered  off  to  the  town  of  “ cottages.” 
I saw  her  again  in  the  afternoon,  taking  tea  in 
her  garden  as  she  sat  on  a packing-case  among 
eviscerated  bales,  and  giving  orders  to  a mob  of 
slow,  clumsy  coolies,  who  were  arranging  the  house. 

239 


ENCHANTED  INDIA 


All  round  the  post-office  there  is  invariably  a 
crowd  of  natives  scribbling  in  pencil  on  post-cards 
held  in  their  left  hands.  Their  correspondence  is 
lengthy,  minute,  and  interminable ; in  spite  of  their 
concentration  and  look  of  reflection  I could  never 
bring  myself  to  take  them  seriously,  or  feel  that 
they  were  fully  responsible  for  their  thoughts  and 
acts — machines  only,  wound  up  by  school  teaching, 
some  going  out  of  order  and  relapsing  into  savages 
and  brutes. 

Stones  flying,  sticks  thrown — at  a little  pariah 
girl,  whose  shadow  as  she  passed  had  defiled  the 
food  of  a Brahmin.  He  merely  threw  away  the 
rice,  which  the  dogs  soon  finished;  but  the  by- 
standers who  had  witnessed  the  girl’s  insolence  in 
going  so  near  the  holy  man — she  so  base  and  un- 
worthy— flew  at  the  unhappy  creature,  who  ran 
away  screaming,  abandoning  a load  of  wood  she 
was  carrying  on  her  head. 


240 


PESHAWUR 


PESHAWUR 

As  we  approached  the  Afghan  frontier,  camp 
followed  camp,  clustering  round  the  railway  stations 
that  lie  closer  together  on  the  line.  In  the  morning 
and  towards  evening  there  was  a constant  hum 
round  the  train,  of  bagpipes,  bugles,  and  drums, 
and  the  red  or  grey  ranks  were  to  be  seen  of 
soldiers  at  drill. 

Near  the  sepoys’  tents  long  lines  of  mules 
picketed  by  their  feet  stood  by  the  guns ; and 
further  on  baggage-camels,  lying  down,  were  hardly 
distinguishable  from  the  russet  grass  and  the 
scorched  ochre  sand. 

There  are  two  towns  of  Peshawur : one  a dis- 
tracted, silly  place,  with  no  beginning  nor  end, 
straggling  along  something  in  the  manner  of 
Madras,  with  an  embryonic  bazaar  and  all  the 
amusements  demanded  by  soldiers ; the  other  en- 
closed in  walls  of  dried  mud,  which  are  preserved 
only  “ to  protect  the  town  from  robbers.” 

In  this  Peshawur  the  houses  are  crowded  along 
narrow,  crooked  alleys,  and  there  is  but  one  rather 
wider  street  of  shops,  which  here  already  have  a quite 
241 


R 


ENCHANTED  INDIA 


Persian  character,  having  for  sale  only  the  products 
of  Cabul  or  Bokhara.  The  balconies,  the  shutters, 
the  verandahs  and  galleries  are  of  wood  inlaid  in 
patterns  like  spider-net.  The  timbers  are  so  slight 
that  they  would  seem  quite  useless  and  too  fragile 
to  last ; and  yet  they  are  amazingly  strong,  and 
alone  remain  in  place,  amid  heaps  of  stones,  in 
houses  that  have  fallen  into  ruin.  In  the  streets, 
the  contrast  is  strange,  of  tiny  houses  with  the 
Afghans,  all  over  six  feet  high,  superb  men  wearing 
heavy  dhotis  of  light  colours  faded  to  white, 
still  showing  in  the  shadow  of  the  folds  a greenish- 
blue  tinge  of  dead  turquoise.  Solemn  and  slow, 
or  motionless  in  statuesque  attitudes  while  they 
converse  in  few  words,  and  never  gesticulate,  they 
are  very  fine,  with  a tierce  beauty ; their  large,  open 
eyes  are  too  black,  and  their  smile  quite  distressingly 
white  in  faces  where  the  muscles  look  stiff- set. 
Even  the  children,  in  pale-hued  silk  shirts,  are 
melancholy,  languid,  spiritless,  but  very  droll,  too, 
in  their  little  pointed  caps  covered  with  gold  braid, 
and  the  finery  of  endless  metal  necklaces,  and 
bangles' on  their  ankles  and  arms. 


In  one  of  the  alleys  by  the  outer  wall  was  a 
little  house  with  a door  in  carved  panels  framing 

242 


PESHAWUR 


inlaid  work  as  delicate  as  woven  damask.  A crowd 
surrounding  it  could  not  be  persuaded  by  Abibulla’s 
eloquence  to  make  way  for  me,  a suspicious-looking 
stranger. 

In  this  house  abode  the  postmaster  of  the  Persian 
mails,  and  I wanted  to  register  a letter  for  Cabul. 

Abibulla  delivered  a long  harangue  through  the 
closed  door;  at  last  a wicket  was  opened,  framing 
an  eye.  I was  invited  to  approach,  and  then,  after 
examination,  the  wicket  in  the  polished  door  was 
abruptly  closed ! 

There  was  a sort  of  murmur  behind  the  door, 
like  reciting  a prayer,  then  louder  tones,  indeed 
a very  loud  shout,  repeated  three  times  by  several 
voices  at  once ; and  then  the  one  alone  continued 
in  a dull  chant.  The  door  was  half  opened  and 
I was  beckoned,  but  to  enter  alone. 

On  the  threshold  I was  desired  to  take  off  my 
shoes,  because  I was  going  into  the  presence  of  a 
holy  man.  As  I crossed  the  forecourt  fresh  and 
ferocious  shouts  rang  out;  a curtain  was  lifted, 
and  in  a room  scarcely  lighted  by  a tiny  window, 
the  air  thick  with  smoke,  I could  just  make  out 
a number  of  men,  all  standing,  very  excited, 
gesticulating  wildly,  and  once  more  they  shouted 
their  savage  cry. 


243 


ENCHANTED  INDIA 

At  the  back  of  the  room  the  master  of  the 
house  squatted  on  the  floor,  dressed  in  green  richly 
embroidered  with  gold,  and  on  his  head  was  a 
vase-shaped  cap  or  tiara  of  astrakhan.  Near  him, 
in  an  armchair,  sat  a perfectly  naked  fakir,  his 
breast  covered  with  jade  necklaces.  His  face  was 
of  superhuman  beauty,  emaciated,  with  a look  of 
suffering,  his  eyes  glowing  with  rapt  ecstasy.  He 
seemed  to  be  entranced,  seeing  nothing  but  a vision, 
and  intoxicated  by  its  splendour. 

Then  starting  to  his  feet,  and  stretching  out  his 
arm  to  point  at  me,  he  poured  forth  invective  in 
sharp,  rapid  speech.  The  words  flowed  without 
pause : — 

“ Dog ! traitor ! cruel  wretch!  eater  of  meat ! ” 

And  then  seeing  that  I did  not  go,  that  on 
wakening  again  from  his  dream  I was  still  there, 
he  fixed  his  eyes  on  me  and  caught  sight  of  a medal 
that  I wear. 

“ Kali  ? ” he  asked. 

“ No  ; the  Virgin  Mary.” 

“ What  is  the  Virgin  Mary  ? ” 

“ The  mother  of  Christ.” 

“ Ah,  your  Kali,  then  ? ” 

“ No  ; Kali  is  a cruel,  bloodthirsty  goddess,  while 
the  Virgin ” 


244 


PESHAWUR 


He  interrupted  me : 

“ She  is  the  mother  of  Christ,  you  say  ? You 
are  a stranger,  and  you  cannot  know  all  the  mischief 
they  do  us  in  the  name  of  her  Son.” 

While  I was  talking  to  the  postmaster  the  fakir 
smoked  a hookah,  burning  amber  powder  and  rose- 
leaves.  The  air  was  full  of  the  narcotic  fragrance ; 
a piercing  perfume  that  mounted  to  the  brain. 

Another  fakir,  a young  man,  had  come  to  sit  at 
the  elder’s  feet,  and  when  I had  finished  my  busi- 
ness the  “holy  man”  began  to  knead  his  disciple’s 
muscles,  wringing  and  disjointing  his  arms  and 
dislocating  his  left  shoulder ; and,  as  if  in  mockery 
of  my  distressed  expression,  he  bent  the  lad’s  back 
inwards  till  his  face  was  between  his  heels,  and  left 
him  for  a long  minute  in  that  torturing  position. 

When  at  last  the  hoy  was  allowed  to  return  to 
his  place  in  a corner  he  sat  quite  still,  his  eyes 
staring  stupidly  and  shedding  large  tears,  though 
not  a muscle  of  his  face  moved. 

In  the  close-shut  room  the  air,  loaded  with  scent 
and  smoke,  was  quite  unbreathable ; musicians 
playing  behind  a partition  added  to  the  irritating 
effect  of  all  this  perfume  and  noise. 

As  I was  leaving,  the  fakir  rose  amid  the  cries  of 
all  the  people,  who  clamoured  for  his  blessing.  He 
245 


ENCHANTED  INDIA 


silenced  them  by  a sign,  then  laying  one  hand  on 
my  shoulder,  after  looking  at  my  medal — 

“ Farewell,”  said  he,  “ and  may  the  Almighty 
protect  you,  for  you  look  kind.” 

The  throng  outside  had  increased ; Abibulla  could 
scarcely  make  way  for  me  to  the  end  of  the  street, 
and  for  a long  time  I could  still  hear  the  cries  that 
reached  us  at  a distance. 

Off  next  morning  to  the  Khyber  Pass.  The  road 
lay  across  the  vast  monotonous  plain,  richly  pro- 
ductive all  the  way  from  Peshawur  to  the  foot  of 
the  hills.  At  one  end  of  a field  some  men  had 
spread  a net  and  were  beating  the  field  towards 
the  corners  with  a heavy  rope  that  broke  down  the 
tall  oats  ; before  long  the  birds  were  seen  struggling 
under  the  meshes,  but  they  were  soon  caught  and 
carried  away  in  cages. 

Outside  the  fort  which  guards  the  opening  of  the 
pass  there  was  confusion ; a mad  scurry  of  men, 
running,  shouting,  hustling.  Quite  a complicated 
meUe  of  animals  bolting,  elephants  and  camels  let 
loose  and  impossible  to  overtake,  but  caught  at  last. 

After  the  delay,  which  in  India  is  a matter  of 
course,  the  caravan  set  out — the  last  to  go ; for 
during  the  past  three  months  no  European  had 
246 


PESHAWUR 


crossed  the  pass,  and  in  consequence  of  misunder- 
standings with  some  of  the  rebel  tribes  to  the  north, 
even  the  natives  were  prohibited  henceforth  from 
going  to  Cabul. 

First  went  six  armed  regulars,  then  a party  on 
horseback,  for  the  most  part  Persians,  one  of  whom 
was  carrying  in  his  arms  an  enormous  sheaf  of 
roses,  which  hid  him  completely  and  drooped  over 
the  saddle. 

Suddenly  there  was  a panic  among  the  horses ; 
they  shied,  reared,  and  bolted  across  the  fields,  and 
the  road  being  cleared,  the  elephants  belonging  to 
the  Ameer  of  Cabul  went  by,  to  march  at  the  head 
of  the  caravan.  Next  came  a thousand  camels,  also 
the  Ameer’s  ; like  the  elephants,  they  carried  no 
baggage,  but  on  the  back  of  one  female  was  a young 
one,  tied  into  a basket,  born  only  the  day  before,  all 
white  and  woolly. 

Asses  followed,  oxen  and  more  camels,  loaded 
beyond  their  strength  with  old  iron,  tin  pannikins, 
a whole  cargo  of  goods  in  cases  from  Manchester 
and  Sheffield — so  badly  packed  that  things  came 
clattering  down  as  the  beasts  pushed  each  other 
amid  oaths  and  blows. 

Women  porters  came  on  foot,  hidden  under  bales, 
nets  full  of  crocks,  faggots,  and  trusses  of  hay. 

247 


ENCHANTED  INDIA 


Children,  and  women  in  sarees — fine  ladies — had 
nothing  to  carry ; some  were  wrapped  in  yash- 
macks,  shrouding  them  from  head  to  foot  with  a 
little  veil  of  transparent  muslin  over  their  eyes. 

And  to  close  the  procession  came  more  soldiers. 

After  inspecting  my  little  permit  to  visit  the 
Khyber,  the  officials  at  the  fort  had  placed  in  my 
carriage  a soldier  of  the  native  Khyber  rifle-corps, 
six  feet  six  in  height,  placid  and  gentle.  When 
I got  out  of  the  carriage  to  walk  up  a hill  he  would 
follow  a yard  or  so  behind,  and  watching  all  my 
movements,  looked  rather  as  if  he  were  taking  me 
to  prison  than  like  an  escort  to  protect  me. 

We  left  the  caravan  far  behind.  In  the  gorge 
with  its  rosy -pink  soil  the  silence  was  exquisite,  the 
air  had  the  freshness  of  a mountain  height,  and 
quite  inexplicably  amid  these  barren  rocks,  where 
there  was  not  a sign  of  vegetation,  there  was  a scent 
of  honey  and  almonds. 

Children  were  selling  whortleberries  in  plaited 
baskets ; they  came  up  very  shyly,  and  as  soon  as 
they  had  sold  their  spoil  hurried  back  to  hide  in 
their  nook.  Further  on  a little  Afghan  boy,  standing 
alone  and  motionless  by  the  roadside,  held  out  three 
eggs  for  sale. 

At  a turn  in  the  road  the  view  opened  out  to  a 
248 


I 


PESHAWUR 


distant  horizon ; the  plain  of  Peshawur,  intensely 
green  in  contrast  with  the  rosy  tone  of  the  fore- 
ground ; and  far  away  the  Himalayas,  faintly  blue 
with  glaciers  of  fiery  gold  in  the  sun,  against  a 
gloomy  sky  where  the  clouds  were  gathering. 

Between  the  cliff-walls  of  the  defile,  in  a sort  of 
bay,  stands  Ali  Musjid,  a little  white  mosque  where 
travellers  tarry  to  pray. 

Deeply  graven  in  the  stone  of  one  of  the  walls  is 
the  giant  hand  of  Ali  the  Conqueror,  the  terrible, 
who  came  from  the  land  of  the  Arabs,  killing  all  on 
his  way  who  refused  to  be  converted  to  Islam. 
And  he  died  in  the  desolate  Khyber,  where  all  who 
pass  do  him  honour,  and  entreat  his  protection  on 
their  way. 

Above  the  mausoleum  a fort  with  battlements 
towers  over  the  pass,  “ an  impregnable  position,” 
the  guides  tell  us. 

A company  of  the  Khyber  Rifles  are  quartered 
there  in  the  old  buildings  and  the  officers’  deserted 
bungalows ; over  all  hangs  an  atmosphere  of  icy 
desolation  and  overpowering  melancholy.  Above  our 
heads  a flight  of  eagles  wheeled  against  the  sky. 

As  we  stood  up  there  the  caravan  for  Cabul  came 
in  sight  on  the  road  below,  and  slowly  disappeared 
wrapped  in  dust,  with  mechanical  steadiness  and 
249 


ENCHANTED  INDIA 


without  a sound.  After  that  came  the  other  train 
of  travellers  from  Peshawur,  singing  to  the  accom- 
paniment of  mule-bells,  every  sound  swelled  by  the 
echo.  Children’s  laughter  came  up  to  our  ears,  the 
scream  of  an  elephant  angry  at  being  stopped — even 
at  a distance  we  could  still  hear  them  a little — and 
then  silence  fell  again  under  the  flight  of  the  eagles 
soaring  in  circles  further  and  further  away  as  they 
followed  the  caravan. 

Close  to  us  on  each  level  spot  of  the  scarped  rock 
was  a little  fortified  look-out  where  three  or  four 
soldiers  kept  watch,  with  here  and  there  a larger 
tower,  reached  only  by  a ladder,  and  in  these  six  or 
eight  men. 

Beyond  this  point  among  the  mountains  the  road 
seemed  to  vanish,  to  lead  nowhere,  lost  in  pale  red 
among  the  red  cliffs,  as  if  it  stopped  at  the  foot  of 
the  rocky  wall. 

As  we  went  back  we  found  the  roses  carried  in 
the  morning  by  the  Persian  strewn  on  the  ground 
in  front  of  the  Ali  Musjid,  and  over  them  a flock  of 
birds  with  red  beaks  were  fluttering. 

Then  at  Peshawur  again  in  the  evening,  girls, 
with  groups  of  soldiers  in  red  jackets  or  Scotch 
kilts ; the  common  women  were  horrible,  whitened, 

250 


PESHAWUR 


with  loose  shirts  and  tight-fitting  trousers.  One 
alone  sat  at  her  window  wreathed  about  with 
mindi  flowers  in  the  crude  light  of  a lamp.  The 
others  accosted  the  passer-by,  laughing  and  shouting 
in  shrill  tones. 

In  one  room  we  heard  music — guzlas,  drums,  and 
a vina.  There  were  three  dancing-girls.  At  first 
they  only  performed  the  Indian  “ goose-step,”  the 
slow  revolutions  growing  gradually  quicker.  But 
urged  by  the  soldiers  who  filled  the  room  and  beat 
time  with  their  sticks  on  the  floor,  the  nautch-girls 
marked  their  steps,  wriggled  with  heavy  awkward 
movements,  and  tried  to  dance  a Highland  jig, 
taught  by  two  Scotch  soldiers. 

A dark  street  corner  where  there  were  no  shops. 
Under  a canopy  constructed  of  four  bamboos 
thatched  with  straw,  a young  man  in  a light- 
coloured  dhoti  was  sitting  on  a low  stool ; about 
him  were  women  singing.  Presently  one  of  them 
came  forward,  and  dipping  her  fingers  into  three 
little  copper  pots  that  stood  on  the  ground  in 
front  of  the  youth,  she  took  first  oil,  then  a green 
paste,  and  finally  some  perfume  with  which  she 
touched  seven  spots — the  lad’s  feet,  knees,  shoulders, 
and  turban.  Then  she  wiped  her  fingers  on  the 
saree  of  the  bridegroom’s  mother — for  he  was  to  be 
251 


ENCHANTED  INDIA 


married  on  the  morrow — who  was  standing  behind 
her  son. 

After  her  another  woman  repeated  the  ceremony, 
and  then  they  went  away,  still  singing.  This  went 
on  for  part  of  the  evening.  When  it  was  all  over 
they  went  to  eat  rice  at  the  bridegroom’s  house,  and 
meanwhile  the  same  ceremony  had  been  performed 
with  the  bride,  whom  her  neighbours  had  taken  it 
by  turns  to  anoint  and  perfume,  in  a house  closed 
against  prying  eyes. 

When  the  dead  are  to  be  honoured  in  this  land 
each  true  believer  lays  a pebble  as  homage  on  the 
tomb,  and  the  dead  man’s  repute  is  estimated  by 
the  size  of  the  pile  of  stones  that  covers  him. 

Not  far  from  Peshawur  a legend  had  arisen 
concerning  a certain  Guru,  that  the  holy  man  now 
underground  grew  taller  every  year  by  a foot,  and 
the  heap  of  stones  grew  longer  day  by  day,  till  the 
English  authorities  had  to  interfere  and  place  a 
guard  of  soldiers  to  check  the  encroachment  of  the 
tumulus  on  the  high  road. 


252 


MURREE 


MURREE 

We  left  Rawal  Pindi  in  a tonga.  The  night  was 
black,  the  carriage  had  no  lamps ; but  now  and  again, 
at  the  sound  of  the  driver’s  horn,  dark  masses — bag- 
gage camels,  scarcely  distinguishable  in  the  gloom — 
made  way  for  us  to  go  past  at  a gallop. 

We  changed  horses  every  five  miles ; ill-kempt 
little  beasts,  and  only  half  fed,  who  got  through 
their  stage  only  by  the  constant  application  of  the 
whip,  and  shouts  from  the  sais  standing  on  the 
step ; when  released  from  harness  they  stood  forlorn 
and  hobbled  off,  lame  of  every  leg,  to  their  stables 
with  no  litter.  Day  broke,  a dingy  grey,  dark 
with  woolly  cloud  and  heavy  rain ; a wall  of  fog 
rose  up  around  us,  while  the  road  was  uphill  to- 
wards the  mountains. 

The  fog  seemed  to  turn  to  solid  smoke,  im- 
penetrably black,  wrapping  us  in  darkness  which 
was  suddenly  rent  by  a red  flash,  blood-red,  ending 
in  a green  gleam.  The  mist  retained  a tint  of 
sulphurous  copper  for  some  time;  then  a second 
flash,  and  far  away  among  the  lurid  clouds  we 
had  a glimpse  of  the  Himalayas,  pallid  purple 
with  green  shadows  against  an  inky  sky.  The 
253 


ENCHANTED  INDIA 


thunder,  deadened  by  the  masses  of  snow  and 
very  distant,  rolled  to  and  fro  with  a hollow  sound, 
frightening  the  horses  which  struggled  uphill  at  a 
frantic  pace.  And  the  dense  fog  closed  round  us 
once  more,  a dark  green  milkiness  streaked  with 
snow,  which  was  falling  in  large  flakes  formed  of 
four  or  five  clinging  together  like  the  petals  of 
flowers.  Then  it  hailed,  which  completely  maddened 
the  horses,  and  then  again  snow,  and  it  was  literally 
night  at  ten  in  the  morning  when  at  last  we  reached 
this  spot  and  the  shelter  of  a bungalow. 

The  storm  raged  on  all  day,  bringing  down  clouds 
that  swept  the  earth  and  yawned  in  cataracts,  to  the 
awful  roar  of  the  thunder  that  shook  the  foundation 
of  rock. 


GARHI 

A day  in  the  tonga.  Early  in  the  morning 
through  snow,  and  past  forests  where  huge  pines 
were  felled  by  yesterday’s  storm ; then,  after 
descending  a hill  in  a thaw  that  melted  the  clay 
soil  into  red  mud,  we  came  to  a felted  carpet  of 
flowers  as  close  as  they  could  lie,  without  leaves; 
violets,  and  red  and  white  tulips  swaying  on  slender 
stems.  And  here  again  were  the  song  of  birds, 
and  fragrance  in  the  soft,  clear  air. 

254 


GARHI 


Halting  at  noon  at  Kohala,  we  found  a barber  in 
the  open  street  shaving  and  snipping  his  customers. 
In  a cage  hanging  to  the  bough  of  a tree  above  his 
head  a partridge  was  hopping  about — black  speckled 
with  white,  and  gold -coloured  wings.  It  had  a 
strident  cry  like  the  setting  of  a saw. 

As  soon  as  the  last  customer’s  beard  was  trimmed, 
the  barber  took  down  the  cage  and  carried  the  bird 
to  another  spot  whence  we  could  hear  its  scream. 

Above  the  road  lie  dark  cliffs ; a rose-coloured 
waterfall  of  melted  snow  tumbled  mixing  with  the 
clay — pink  with  lilac  depths,  and  the  foam  iri- 
descent in  the  sunbeams.  The  ruins  of  a large 
temple  of  green  stone  carved  with  myriads  of  fine 
lines  stood  in  solitude  at  the  edge  of  a wood,  and 
the  background  was  the  mountain-range,  the  Hima- 
layas, lost  in  the  sky  and  bathed  in  blue  light.  Only 
a portico  remains  standing — a massive,  enduring 
frame  for  the  infinite  distance  of  snow-capped  giants. 
The  stones  have  lost  their  hue ; they  are  darkly 
streaked  by  the  rains  and  a growth  of  grey  and 
purple  mosses,  and  russet  or  white  lichens  have 
eaten  into  the  surface. 

All  the  architectural  details  are  effaced ; para- 
sites and  creepers  have  overgrown  the  old-world 
carvings. 


255 


ENCHANTED  INDIA 


SRINAGAR 

Still  the  tonga;  uphill  and  down,  over  the  hilly- 
country,  with  a horizon  of  dull,  low  mountains,  and 
the  horses  worse  and  worse,  impossible  to  start  but 
by  a storm  of  blows.  Towards  evening  a particularly 
vicious  pair  ended  by  overturning  us  into  a ditch 
full  of  liquid  mud.  The  sais  alone  was  completely 
immersed,  and  appealed  loudly  to  Rama  with 
shrieks  of  terror.  Abibulla  on  his  part,  after 
making  sure  that  the  sahibs  and  baggage  were 
all  safe  and  sound,  took  off  his  shoes,  spread  his 
dhoti  on  the  ground,  and  made  the  introductory 
salaams  of  thanksgiving  to  the  Prophet,  while  the 
coolie  driver  returned  thanks  to  Rama. 

The  hills  are  left  behind  us ; the  plateau  of  Cash- 
mere  spreads  as  far  as  the  eye  can  see,  traversed 
by  the  glistening  Jellum,  that  slowly  rolling  stream, 
spreading  here  and  there  into  lakes. 

Trees  shut  in  the  flat,  interminable  road,  and  it 
was  midnight  before  we  reached  Srinagar,  where 
I found,  as  a surprise,  a comfortable  house-boat 
with  inlaid  panels,  and  a fragrant  fire  of  mango- 
wood  smelling  of  orris-root. 

256 


SRINAGAR 


The  large  town  lies  along  the  bank  of  the  Jellum ; 
the  houses  are  of  wood,  grey  and  satiny  with  old 
age,  and  almost  all  tottering  to  their  end  on  the 
strand  unprotected  by  an  embankment.  The 
windows  are  latticed  with  bent  wood  in  fanciful 
designs.  Large  houses  built  of  brick  have  thrown 
out  covered  balconies  and  verandahs,  supported  on 
tall  piles  in  the  water,  and  on  brackets  carved  to 
represent  monsters  or  flowering  creepers. 

The  ugliest  of  these  palaces  is  that  of  the 
Maharajah,  with  galleries  of  varnished  wood,  of 
which  the  windows  overlooking  the  river  are  filled 
with  gaudy  stained  glass.  In  the  garden  is  a 
pagoda  painted  in  crude  colours  crowned  with  a 
gilt  cupola ; the  zenana  has  bright  red  walls  striped 
with  green,  and  in  the  grounds  there  is  a cottage 
exactly  copied  from  a villa  in  the  suburbs  of 
London. 

The  muddy  waters  reflected  the  grey  houses  and 
the  roofs  of  unbaked  clay,  on  which  the  winter 
snows  were  melting  in  black  trickling  drops. 

In  the  streets  the  people,  all  wrapped  in  long 
shawls  of  a neutral  brown,  were  only  distinguish- 
able amid  the  all-pervading  greyness  by  their  white 
head-dress.  Men  and  women  alike  wear  the  same 
costume — a full  robe  of  dirty  woollen  stuff  with 
s 257 


ENCHANTED  INDIA 


long  hanging  sleeves,  and  under  this  they  are 
perfectly  naked.  The  rich  put  on  several  such 
garments  one  over  another ; the  poor  shiver  under 
a cotton  wrapper.  And  all,  even  the  children,  look 
as  if  they  had  the  most  extraordinary  deformed 
angular  stomachs,  quite  low  down  — charcoal 
warmers  that  they  carry  next  their  skin  under 
their  robe. 

At  the  bazaar  we  were  positively  hunted  as  cus- 
tomers; the  clamour  was  harassing,  and  everything 
was  displayed  for  sale  in  the  open  street,  while 
the  owner  and  his  family  crowded  round  us  and 
hindered  us  from  going  a single  step  further. 

Inside  the  shops  everything  was  piled  together. 
The  same  man  is  at  once  a banker,  a maker  of 
papier-mache  boxes — papi-machi  they  call  it  here 
— and  of  carpets,  a goldsmith,  tailor,  upholsterer — 
and  never  lets  you  go  till  you  have  bought  some- 
thing. 

The  bargaining  was  interminable,  something  in 
this  manner : — 

“ How  much  for  this  stuff?  ” 

“ You  know  it  is  pashmina  ? ” 

“Yes,  I know.  How  much  ?” 

“ It  is  made  at  thirty-five,  twenty,  fifteen  rupees.” 
“ Yes.  But  how  much  is  this  ? ” 

258 


SRINAGAR 


Then  follows  a long  discussion  in  Hindi  with  the 
bystanders,  who  always  escort  a foreigner  in  a mob, 
ending  in  the  question — 

“Would  you  be  willing  to  pay  thirty-five  ru- 
pees ? ” 

“No.” 

“ Then  twenty-eight  ? ” 

And  the  figures  go  down  after  long  discussions, 
till  at  last  the  question  as  to  whether  I know 
the  worth  of  pashmina  begins  all  over  again — 
endless. 

This  morning,  at  Peshawur,  down  come  the  police 
on  my  houseboat — three  of  them — and  their  leader 
explains  matters.  Abibulla  interprets. 

I have  no  right  to  stay  in  Cashmere  without  the 
authorization  of  the  Anglo-Indian  Government,  and 
ought  to  have  handed  such  a permit  to  the  police 
on  arriving.  I have  none — no  papers  whatever. 

The  matter  was  evidently  very  serious.  The 
three  constables  consulted  together  in  an  under- 
tone, and  then  went  off  after  desiring  that  I would 
forthwith  telegraph  to  Sealkote  and  bring  the  reply 
to  the  police  office. 

Abibulla  saw  them  off  with  great  deference  and 
a contrite  air,  and  watched  their  retreat ; then,  as 
259 


ENCHANTED  INDIA 


I was  about  to  send  him  to  despatch  the  message, 
he  was  indignant.  The  police ! What  could  they 
do  to  a sahib  like  me  ? It  was  all  very  well  to 
frighten  poor  folks — it  was  a sin  to  waste  money 
in  asking  for  a reply  which  I should  never  be  called 
upon  to  show — and  so  he  went  on,  till  I made  up 
my  mind  to  think  no  more  of  the  matter.  And 
whenever  I met  the  chief  at  the  bazaar  or  by  the 
Jellum,  he  only  asked  after  my  health  and  my 
amusements. 

So,  after  waiting  for  the  reply  of  the  gentleman 
whose  business  it  was  to  give  me  this  free  pass, 
seeing  that  he  could  not  make  up  his  mind,  I left 
the  town  without  it. 

At  Srinagar  you  live  under  the  impression  that 
the  scene  before  you  is  a panorama,  painted  to  cheat 
the  eye.  In  the  foreground  is  the  river ; beyond  it 
spreads  the  plain,  shut  in  by  the  giant  mountains, 
just  so  far  away  as  to  harmonize  as  a whole,  while 
over  their  summits,  in  the  perpetually  pure  air, 
hues  fleet  like  kisses  of  colour,  the  faintest  shades 
reflected  on  the  snow  in  tints  going  from  lilac 
through  every  shade  of  blue  and  pale  rose  down  to 
dead  white. 

At  the  back  of  the  shops,  which  lie  lower  than 
the  street,  we  could  see  men  trampling  in  vats  all 
260 


SRINAGAR 


day  long ; they  were  stamping  and  treading  on  old 
woollen  shawls,  fulling  them  to  take  off  the  shiny 
traces  of  wear,  to  sell  them  again  as  new  goods. 

“ Export  business  ! ” says  Abibulla. 

On  the  sloping  bank  to  the  river  stood  a large 
wooden  mosque  falling  into  ruins.  In  front  of  this 
building  was  a plot  full  of  tombstones,  some  over- 
thrown, some  still  standing  on  the  declivity. 

In  the  evening,  lamps  shining  out  through  latticed 
windows  lighted  the  faithful  in  their  pious  gym- 
nastics. A moollah’s  chant  in  the  distance  rose  high 
overhead,  and  very  shrill,  and  in  the  darkness  the 
stars  shed  pale  light  on  the  tombstones  mirrored  in 
the  black  water ; a plaintive  flute  softly  carried  on 
the  sound  of  the  priests’  prayers.  Down  the  dark 
streets  the  folk,  walking  barefoot  without  a sound, 
and  wrapped  in  white,  looked  like  ghosts. 

Our  boat  stole  slowly  past  the  palaces,  where 
there  were  no  lights,  through  the  haze  rising  from 
the  river,  and  all  things  assumed  a dissolving 
appearance  as  though  they  were  about  to  vanish ; 
all  was  shrouded  and  dim  with  mystery. 

To-day  a religious  festival ; from  the  earliest  hour 
everybody  had  donned  new  clothes,  and  in  the  after- 
261 


ENCHANTED  INDIA 


noon  in  the  bazaar  there  was  a masquerade  of  the 
lowest  class — embroidered  dhotis,  white  robes,  light- 
coloured  turbans  displaying  large  discs  of  green,  red 
or  blue.  The  men,  even  old  men,  ran  after  each 
other  with  bottles  of  coloured  water,  which  they 
sprinkled  far  and  near.  One  indeed  had  neither 
more  nor  less  than  a phial  of  violet  ink,  which, 
on  the  face  and  hands  of  a little  black  boy,  shone 
with  metallic  lustre.  One  boy,  in  a clean  garment, 
fled  from  a man  who  was  a constant  beggar  from 
me,  and  who  was  pursuing  him  with  some  yellow 
fluid ; and  the  fugitive  was  quite  seriously  blamed 
for  disregarding  the  will  of  the  gods  and  goddesses, 
whose  festival  it  was. 

Two  days  after,  the  people  would  burn  in  great 
state,  on  an  enormous  wood  pile,  an  image  of  Time, 
to  ensure  the  return  next  year  of  the  festival  of 
colours. 

All  day  long  in  front  of  the  houses  the  women 
were  busy  clumsily  pounding  grain  with  wooden 
pestles  in  a hollow  made  in  a log;  stamping  much 
too  hard  with  violent  energy,  they  scattered  much 
of  the  grain,  which  the  half-tamed  birds  seized  as 
they  flew,  almost  under  the  women’s  hands.  And 
then  the  wind  carried  away  quite  half  the  meal. 
But  they  pounded  on  all  day  for  the  birds  and  the 

262 


SRINAGAR 


wind,  and  were  quite  happy  so  long  as  they  could 
make  a noise. 

Two  old  women  had  a quarrel,  and  all  the  neigh- 
bourhood came  out  to  look  on. 

Words  and  more  words  for  an  hour,  till  one  of 
them  stooping  down  took  up  a handful  of  sand  and 
flung  it  to  the  earth  again  at  her  feet.  The  other, 
at  this  crowning  insult,  which,  being  interpreted, 
conveys,  “ There,  that  is  how  I treat  you ! like 
sand  thrown  down  to  be  trodden  on,”  covered  her 
face  with  her  sleeves  and  fled  howling. 

Two  days  later  the  roofs  were  covered  with  tulips 
of  sheeny  white  and  red,  as  light  as  feathers  swaying 
on  their  slender  stems ; and  the  crowd,  all  in  bright 
colours,  went  about  in  muslins  in  the  clean,  dry 
streets.  Only  a few  very  pious  persons  still  wore 
the  garments  stained  at  the  festival. 

In  the  depths  of  a deserted  temple  in  the  bazaar, 
amid  heaps  of  rags,  bones,  and  colourless  debris, 
dwelt  an  old  man,  a very  highly  venerated  fakir, 
motionless  in  his  den,  while  around  him  were 
gathered  all  the  masterless  dogs  of  Srinagar,  who 
allowed  no  one  to  come  near  him  and  flew  at  any- 
body who  tried  to  enter  the  temple. 


263 


ENCHANTED  INDIA 


At  a goldsmith’s  I stood  to  watch  a native  making 
a silver  box.  He  had  no  pattern,  no  design  drawn 
on  the  surface,  but  he  chased  it  with  incredible 
confidence,  and  all  his  tools  were  shapeless  iron 
pegs  that  looked  like  nails : first  a circle  round  the 
box,  and  then  letters  and  flowers  outlined  with 
a firm  touch  that  bit  into  the  metal.  He  had  no 
bench,  no  shop — nothing.  He  sat  at  work  on  the 
threshold  of  his  stall,  would  pause  to  chat  or  to 
look  at  something,  and  then,  still  talking,  went  on 
with  his  business,  finishing  it  quite  simply  at  once 
without  any  retouching. 

In  the  coppersmiths’  street  was  a booth  that 
seemed  to  be  a school  of  art,  where  little  fellows 
of  seven  or  eight  were  engraving  platters  and  pots 
with  the  decision  of  practised  craftsmen. 

Some  more  small  boys,  a little  way  off,  were  doing 
embroidery,  mingling  gold  thread  and  coloured  silks 
in  patterns  on  shawls.  They  were  extremely  fair, 
with  long-shaped  black  eyes  under  their  bright-hued 
pointed  caps,  and  their  dresses  were  gay  and  pretty, 
mingling  with  the  glistening  shades  of  silks  and  gold. 
And  they  were  all  chattering,  laughing,  and  twitter- 
ing as  they  worked,  hardly  needing  the  master’s 
supervision. 

A man  by  the  roadside  was  mixing  mud  with 
264 


SRINAGAR 


chopped  straw  ; then  when  his  mortar  was  of  the 
right  consistency  he  began  to  build  the  walls  of  his 
house  between  the  four  corner  posts,  with  no  tools 
but  his  hands.  A woman  and  child  helped  him, 
patting  the  concrete  with  their  hands  until  it  began 
to  look  almost  smooth. 

We  set  out  from  Srinagar  in  an  ekka,  drawn  at 
a trot  by  our  only  horse.  The  driver,  perched  on 
the  shaft  almost  by  his  steed’s  side,  dressed  in 
green  with  an  enormous  pink  pugaree,  flogged  and 
shouted  incessantly.  The  monotonous  landscape 
went  on  and  on  between  the  poplars  that  border 
the  road,  extending  as  far  as  the  blue  circle  of 
distant  Himalayas.  The  valley  was  green  with  the 
first  growth  of  spring ; as  yet  there  were  no  flowers. 
And  till  evening  fell,  the  same  horizon  shut  us  in 
with  mountains  that  seemed  to  recede  from  us. 

We  stopped  at  a bungalow  by  a creek  of  the 
Jellum  that  was  paved  with  broad  lotus  - leaves, 
among  which  the  buds  were  already  opening  their 
pink  hearts. 


265 


ENCHANTED  INDIA 


RAM POOR 

By  three  in  the  morning  we  had  started  on  our 
way.  At  the  very  first  streak  of  day,  in  front  of 
us,  on  the  road,  was  a snow-leopard,  a graceful 
supple  beast,  with  a sort  of  overcoat  above  its  grey 
fur  spotted  with  black,  of  very  long,  white  hairs. 
It  stood  motionless,  watching  some  prey,  and  it  was 
not  till  we  were  close  that  it  sprang  from  the  road 
with  two  bounds,  and  then  disappeared  behind  a 
rock  with  an  elastic,  indolent  swing. 

For  our  noonday  rest  I took  shelter  under  a 
wood  - carver’s  shed.  On  the  ground  was  a large 
plank  in  which,  with  a clumsy  chisel,  he  carved  out 
circles,  alternating  with  plane -leaves  and  palms. 
The  shavings,  fine  as  hairs,  gleamed  in  the  sun,  and 
gave  out  a scent  of  violets.  The  man,  dressed  in 
white  and  a pink  turban,  with  necklaces  and  bangles 
on  his  arms  of  bright  brass,  sang  as  he  tapped  with 
little  blows,  and  seemed  happy  to  be  alive  in  the 
world.  He  gave  us  permission  to  sit  in  the  shade 
of  his  stall,  but  scorned  to  converse  with  Abibulla. 

A man  went  past  in  heavy,  nailed  shoes,  wrapped 
in  a flowing  dhoti;  he  carried  a long  cane  over  his 

266 


RAMPOOR 


left  shoulder,  and  as  he  went  he  cried,  “ Soli,  soli, 
aia  soli.”  All  the  dogs  in  the  village  crowded  after 
him  howling ; and  in  the  distance  I saw  that  he 
was  walking  round  and  round  two  carriages  without 
horses,  still  repeating  “ Soli,  soli.” 

Last  year  he  and  his  brother  had  gone  into  the 
mausoleum  of  a Moslem  saint  with  their  shoes  on ; 
both  had  gone  mad.  The  other  brother  died  in  a 
madhouse,  where  he  was  cared  for;  this  one,  in- 
curable but  harmless,  went  about  the  highways, 
followed  by  the  dogs. 

When  we  left  he  was  in  a coppersmith’s  shop, 
singing  with  wide  open,  staring  eyes ; his  face 
had  a strangely  sad  expression  while  he  sang  a 
gay,  jigging  tune  to  foolish  words  that  made  the 
people  laugh. 

We  met  a native  on  horseback;  a pink  turban 
and  a beard  also  pink,  with  a round  patch  of 
intensely  black  skin  about  his  mouth — white  hair 
dyed  with  henna  to  make  it  rose-colour;  and  a 
lock  of  hair  that  showed  below  his  turban  was  a 
sort  of  light,  dirty  green  in  hue,  like  a wisp  of 
hay.  The  rider,  well  mounted  on  his  horse,  was 
deeply  contemptuous  of  us,  sitting  in  an  ekka — the 
vehicle  of  the  vulgar;  and  he  passed  close  to  us 
267 


ENCHANTED  INDIA 


muttering  an  insult  in  his  pink  beard  trimmed 
and  combed  into  a fan. 

On  the  river-bank  were  some  eagles  devouring 
a dead  beast.  One  of  them  fluttered  up,  but  came 
back  to  the  carrion,  recovering  its  balance  with 
some  difficulty,  its  body  was  so  small  for  its  large, 
heavy  wings.  Then  they  all  rose  together  straight 
into  the  air  with  slow,  broad  wing-strokes,  smaller 
and  smaller,  till  they  were  motionless  specks  against 
the  sky,  and  flew  off  to  vanish  amid  the  snowy 
peaks. 

A forest  in  flower:  Indian  almond  trees  white, 
other  trees  yellow,  a kind  of  magnolia  with  delicate 
pink  blossoms  ; and  among  these  hues  like  perfume, 
flew  a cloud  of  birds,  black,  shot  with  glistening 
metallic  green,  and  butterflies  of  polished  bronze 
and  dark  gold  flashed  with  blue,  and  others  again 
sprinkled  with  white  on  the  nacreous,  orange-tinted 
wings. 

Whenever  our  green  driver  meets  another  ekka- 
driver  they  both  get  off  their  perch  and  take  a 
few  puffs  at  the  hookah  that  hangs  in  a hag  at 
the  back  of  the  vehicle. 

A smart  affair  altogether  is  this  carriage ! two 
very  high  wheels,  no  springs,  a tiny  cotton  awning 

268 


DOMEL 


supported  on  four  sticks  lacquered  red,  and  shelter- 
ing the  seat  which  has  three  ropes  by  way  of  a 
back  to  it.  Portmanteaus  and  nosebags  are  hung 
all  round,  and  even  a kettle  swings  from  the  near 
shaft,  adding  the  clatter  of  its  cymbal  to  the  Indian 
symphony  of  creaking  wheels,  the  cracking  whips, 
the  driver’s  cries  of  “ Cello,  cello”  and  Abibulla’s 
repeated  “ Djaldi,"  all  intended  to  hurry  the  horse’s 
pace. 


DOMEL 

A great  crowd  round  the  bungalow  and  along 
the  road,  and  a mass  of  sepoys  and  police,  made 
Abibulla  remark : 

“ It  must  be  the  tax-collector  to  bring  such  a 
mob  together.” 

But  for  once  he  was  mistaken. 

A tonga  arrived  just  as  we  drove  up,  bringing 
an  English  official,  travelling  in  his  own  carriage ; 
gaiters,  shooting  jacket,  a switch  in  his  hand.  He 
seated  himself  outside  the  bungalow  in  a cane  chair, 
close  by  mine.  Out  of  a case  that  was  brought 
before  him  a hatchet  and  a pistol  were  unpacked, 
documentary  evidence  of  the  crime  into  which  he 
was  to  inquire. 


269 


ENCHANTED  INDIA 


And  then,  under  the  verandah,  the  accused  were 
brought  up : an  old  man  and  a youth,  father  and 
son,  both  superbly  handsome,  very  tall,  erect, 
haughty,  in  spite  of  the  hustling  of  the  armed 
men  and  the  heavy  chains  that  weighed  on  them; 
and  after  bowing  low  to  the  judge  they  stood 
towering  above  the  crowd  of  witnesses,  soldiers, 
and  native  functionaries,  in  magnificent  dignity  and 
calm  indifference. 

Then,  as  it  began  to  grow  a little  cool,  the 
inquiry  was  continued  indoors,  whither  the  table 
was  removed  with  the  papers  and  the  weapons, 
and,  with  great  care,  the  magistrate’s  “soda.”  The 
two  culprits  were  brought  in  and  out,  and  in  and 
out  again,  sometimes  alone,  sometimes  to  be  con- 
fronted with  the  witnesses,  who,  almost  all  of  them, 
had  the  fresh  stains  of  the  festival  on  their 
garments. 

One  of  the  police  in  charge  had  a whip,  and 
when  he  was  leading  away  the  old  man,  holding 
his  chain  he  “played  horses”  with  him,  to  the 
great  amusement  of  the  bystanders,  and  even  of 
the  old  fellow  himself. 

All  round  Domel  there  were  fields  of  lilac  lilies 
among  the  silky  young  grass,  and  the  cliffs  were 
270 


DERWAL 


hung  with  a yellow  eglantine  exhaling  a penetrating 
scent  of  almonds. 

There  was  a large  encampment  round  the 
bungalow  that  night : tents  for  the  soldiers,  and 
under  the  vehicles  men  sleeping  on  straw ; others 
gathered  round  the  fires,  over  which  hung  the 
cooking-pots,  listening  to  a story-teller;  and  in  a 
small  hut  of  mud  walls,  with  the  door  hanging 
loose,  were  the  two  prisoners  with  no  light,  watched 
by  three  dozing  soldiers. 


DERWAL 

The  road  lay  among  flowers,  all -pervading ; in 
the  fields,  on  the  rocks,  on  the  road  itself,  pink 
flowers  or  lavender  or  white ; bright  moss,  shrubs 
and  trees  in  full  bloom,  and  hovering  over  them 
birds  of  changing  hue  and  golden  butterflies. 

Towards  evening  came  a storm  of  hail  and  snow, 
from  which  we  took  refuge  in  a government  bunga- 
low, where  none  but  officials  have  a right  to  rest — but 
we  stayed  there  all  the  same.  The  wind  was  quite 
a tornado,  sweeping  the  flowers  before  it,  and  the 
pink  and  yellow  blossoms  were  mingled  with  the 
snowflakes  and  the  tender  green  leaves,  scarcely 
271 


ENCHANTED  INDIA 


unfolded.  Birds  were  carried  past,  helpless  and 
screaming  with  terror.  We  could  hear  the  beasts 
in  a stable  close  by  bellowing  and  struggling ; and 
then,  while  the  thunder  never  ceased,  repeated  by 
innumerable  echoes,  darkness  fell,  opaque  and 
terrific,  slashed  by  the  constant  flare  of  lightning, 
and  the  earth  shook  under  the  blast. 

And  then  night,  the  real  night,  transparently  blue 
and  luminous  with  stars,  appeared  above  the  last 
cloud  that  vanished  with  the  last  clap  of  thunder. 
Unspeakable  freshness  and  peace  reigned  over 
nature,  and  in  the  limpid  air  the  mountain-chains, 
the  giant  Himalayas,  extended  to  infinity  in  tones 
of  amethyst  and  sapphire.  Nearer  to  us,  lights 
sparkled  out  in  the  innumerable  huts  built  even 
to  the  verge  of  the  eternal  snows,  on  every  spot  of 
arable  ground  or  half-starved  grass  land. 

In  the  evening  calm,  the  silence,  broken  only  by 
the  yelling  of  the  jackals,  weighed  heavy  on  the 
spirit ; and  in  spite  of  the  twinkling  lights  and  the 
village  at  our  feet,  an  oppressive  sense  of  loneliness, 
of  aloofness  and  death,  clutched  me  like  a night- 
mare. 


272 


KOHAT 


KOHAT 

From  Kusshalgar  we  were  travelling  in  a tonga 
once  more.  The  landscape  was  all  of  steep  hills 
without  vegetation ; stretches  of  sand,  hills  of  clay 
— lilac  or  rosy  brick  - earth  scorched  in  the  sun, 
green  or  brown  earth  where  there  had  been  recent 
landslips,  baked  by  the  summer  heat  to  every  shade 
of  red.  There  was  one  hill  higher  than  the  rest,  of 
a velvety  rose-colour  with  very  gentle  undulations, 
and  then  a river-bed  full  of  snowy-white  sand,  which 
was  salt. 

And  from  every  stone,  and  in  the  rifts  in  the 
rocks,  hung  stalactites,  like  glittering  icicles,  and 
these  too  were  of  salt. 

There  was  always  the  same  torture  of  the  horses, 
too  small  and  too  lean  for  their  work,  galloping  the 
five  miles  of  the  stage  and  then  stopping  dead  on 
the  spot,  incapable  of  moving,  hustled  by  the  fresh 
team  that  rushed  off  on  its  wild  career. 

At  the  end  of  the  day  one  of  the  beasts  could  do 
no  more.  A shiver  ran  through  the  limbs  of  the 
poor  thing,  which,  as  soon  as  it  was  released  from 
the  shafts,  lay  down,  a stream  of  blood  staining  the 
273 


T 


ENCHANTED  INDIA 


pale  sand ; and  in  an  instant,  with  a deep  sigh,  it 
was  stiff  in  death. 

The  sun  cast  broad  satin  lights  on  its  bay  coat, 
already  dry ; the  light  hoofs,  the  pretty  head  with 
dilated  nostrils  gave  the  creature  dignity — it  looked 
like  a thoroughbred,  really  noble  in  its  last  rest ; 
while  the  vultures  and  kites  hovered  round,  waiting 
for  us  to  be  gone. 


BUNNOO 

A plain  of  dried  mud,  dull  grey,  with  scarcely  a 
tinge  of  yellow  in  places ; all  round  the  horizon 
softly  undulating  hills  which  looked  transparent, 
here  a tender  blue,  there  delicately  pink,  in  flower- 
like hues.  One  of  them,  rising  above  all  the 
eastern  chain,  might  be  a fortress,  its  towers  alone 
left  standing  amid  the  general  wreck.  To  the  west 
the  highest  summits  were  lost  in  the  blue  of  the 
sky,  identically  the  same,  but  that  the  peaks  were 
faintly  outlined  with  a delicate  line  of  snow. 

As  we  reached  Bunnoo  green  cornfields  extended 
as  far  as  the  eye  could  see,  under  mulberry  trees 
just  unfolding  their  leaves.  Numberless  channels 
of  water  irrigated  the  land ; the  bed  of  the  Kurrum 
274 


BUNNOO 


alone,  quite  white,  was  flecked  here  and  there  with 
blue  pools,  and  was  presently  lost  in  the  rosy 
distance  of  the  hills  on  the  Afghan  frontier. 

The  natives  here  were  an  even  finer  race  than 
those  at  Peshawur,  and  more  uncultured,  never 
bowing  when  we  met  them,  but  eyeing  us  as  we 
passed  as  if  they  were  meditating  some  foul  blow. 

And  in  the  evening  at  mess — a dinner  given  in 
honour  of  a regiment  marching  through — news  was 
brought  in  that  close  to  Bunnoo,  in  the  Ivurrum 
valley,  two  travellers  had  been  murdered  in  the 
night. 

The  dinner  - table  was  covered  with  flowers — 
Marechal  Mel  and  Gloire  de  Dijon  roses — but 
enormous,  as  big  as  saucers,  and  of  such  a texture, 
such  a colour ! a tissue  of  frost  and  light ; and 
round  the  table,  which  was  loaded  with  silver  plate, 
were  grey  and  red  uniforms.  Strains  of  music  were 
wafted  in  through  the  open  windows  from  the 
regimental  band  playing  slow  waltz-tunes  a little 
way  off. 

As  soon  as  dessert  was  removed  two  lieutenants 
got  up,  and  seizing  a couple  of  drums  played  away 
with  all  their  might,  while  some  other  officers, 
under  the  pretext  of  dancing  a Highland  fling,  cut 
the  most  amazing  capers.  When  the  band  had  left 
275 


ENCHANTED  INDIA 


the  fun  went  on  to  the  sound  of  the  banjo,  lasting 
late  into  the  cool  night,  all  in  the  highest  spirits. 

When  I went  away  home  to  the  fort,  where  I 

was  living  with  my  friend  Lieutenant  F , the 

sentinel’s  challenge,  the  tall  grey  walls  casting 
sharp  shadows  on  the  courtyard  silvered  with 
moonlight,  and  another  sentry’s  cry ; and  still,  in 
contrast  with  the  cheerful  evening,  I could  re- 
member nothing  but  the  tonga  post-horse — a thing 
so  frequent  in  this  land  of  fanatics,  so  common  that 
no  one  gives  it  more  than  a passing  thought. 

Before  daybreak,  before  the  riveilUc,  the  moollah’s 
prayer  roused  the  Sikhs,  of  which  two  regiments 
were  quartered  in  the  fort;  and  till  it  was  broad 
daylight,  till  the  sun  had  chased  away  shadows  and 
sadness,  I still  felt  the  melancholy,  the  twilight 
sense  of  uneasiness  left  by  that  slow  and  plaintive 
chant. 

In  the  afternoon  the  soldiers  tilted  on  horseback, 
four  on  a side.  They  tried  to  unhorse  each  other ; 
two  or  three  would  attack  one,  succeeding  at  last 
in  rolling  him  off  under  his  charger,  while  they  in 
their  turn  were  attacked  by  others,  ending  in  a 
mttee,  where  the  victors  and  the  vanquished  left 
fragments  of  their  thin  shirts. 

276 


BUNNOO 


Then  there  were  races  of  baggage  - mules,  and 
competitions  of  speed  in  harnessing  horses  and  in 
striking  the  tents.  Finally  the  English  officers 
rode  a race,  and  then  the  prizes  were  distributed — 
money  to  the  men  and  blue  pugarees  with  gold 
thread  to  the  native  officers. 

In  the  middle  of  the  course  was  a stand,  and 
there,  with  the  officers  and  civil  functionaries,  were 
four  English  ladies  who  had  accompanied  their 
husbands  to  this  remote  station.  They  thought  of 
their  dress  and  took  care  of  their  babies,  living 
among  these  Sikhs  whom  the  native  priests  are 
perpetually  inciting  to  rebellion,  and  seeming  to 
have  not  the  least  fear  of  danger. 

When  the  road  was  made  through  Bunnoo  a 
pile  of  stones  was  heaped  up  in  the  middle  of  the 
village.  The  Moslems  finally  persuaded  themselves 
that  this  was  a saint’s  grave ; and  they  come 
hither  to  perform  their  devotions,  planting  round 
it  bamboo  flagstaffs  with  pennons,  and  adding  to 
the  mound  the  stones  they  piously  bring  to  it  day 
by  day. 

The  heat  to-day  has  suddenly  become  stifling; 
the  low  clouds  veil  the  colourless  sun,  and  the 
flowers,  which  yesterday  were  still  lovely,  are  now 
277 


ENCHANTED  INDIA 


withered  and  pallid,  and  only  give  out  their  scent 
in  the  evening,  when  it  is  cool  again. 

Two  more  murders ; one  a squalid  business  with 
no  motive — a man  killed  as  he  was  on  his  way  to 
gather  his  rice-harvest.  Sixteen  hill-men  attacked 
him  at  once,  riddling  the  body  with  bullets. 

The  other  victim,  the  night  watchman  of  a neigh- 
bouring village,  was  suspected  of  treachery  towards 
the  hill -tribes  in  a recent  skirmish.  One  ball 
through  the  head  had  killed  him,  and  his  arms 
had  been  cut  off. 

At  the  polo  - match  in  the  evening  the  band 
played,  and  three  ladies  were  present;  in  sign  of 
the  spring  having  come,  a basket  was  hung  to  the 
branch  of  a tree,  full  of  straw  kept  constantly 
wet  by  the  coolies,  and  containing  sundry  bottles 
of  soda-water. 

Next  day  was  kept  as  the  spring  festival.  Every 
man  had  a rose  stuck  into  his  turban,  and  a shirt 
embroidered  in  gold  on  the  shoulders  and  breast. 
The  women  appeared  in  stiff  and  gaudy  veil  cloths, 
bedizened  with  trumpery  jewellery.  Everybody 
was  gay ; a little  excited  towards  evening  by  arrack, 
and  dancing,  and  singing  to  the  eternal  tom-toms. 
Even  the  fiercest  men  from  the  hills,  with  black 

278 


BUNNOO 


turbans  and  enormously  full  calico  trousers  that  once 
were  white,  and  shirts  embroidered  in  bright  silks, 
had  set  aside  their  ferocious  looks  and  stuck  roses 
in  their  pugarees,  smiling  at  those  they  met. 

At  mess  there  were  two  newly-arrived  officers, 
come  from  Tochi ; they  had  been  attacked  on  the 
road  in  the  night  by  sixteen  men.  The  driver  and 
the  horse  were  killed ; they  themselves  had  not 
a scratch,  and  they  told  the  story  very  much  at 
their  ease,  relating  the  comic  features  of  the  inci- 
dent— how  a bullet  had  lodged  itself  in  a pot  hanging 
to  a mule’s  pack,  and  the  frightened  creature  had 
kicked  “ like  mad.” 

After  sunset,  in  every  garden,  on  every  hedge, 
wherever  there  had  been  a scrap  of  shade  during 
the  afternoon,  there  was  a perfect  burst  of  flowers, 
opening  in  the  cooler  air  and  scenting  the  night. 
Bound  one  bungalow  the  rose  trees,  overloaded  with 
flowers,  hardly  had  a leaf,  and  in  the  grass,  violet 
and  lavender  larkspurs  grew  as  tall  as  maize  plants. 
Yellow  stars  gleamed  in  the  tangle  of  creepers  over 
the  verandahs,  and  on  a tree  that  looked  as  if  it 
were  dead  blossoms  glistened  in  the  moonlight  like 
polished  steel. 

In  the  plain  the  sowars  were  performing  an 
279 


ENCHANTED  INDIA 


Indian  fantasia.  Charging  at  a gallop,  their  wide 
sleeves  flying  behind  them,  they  swept  past  like 
a whirlwind,  aiming  with  their  lances  at  a peg  of 
wood  stuck  into  the  ground.  Whenever  it  was 
speared  there  were  frantic  shouts  and  applause 
from  a crowd  of  spectators,  packed  in  the  best 
places.  In  a cloud  of  dust,  growing  steadily  thicker 
and  hanging  motionless  over  the  riders,  the  per- 
formance went  on,  its  centre  always  this  same  peg 
of  wood,  replaced  again  and  again,  exciting  the 
enthusiasm  of  connoisseurs  till  the  last  ray  of  light 
died  away. 

The  natives,  to  keep  their  money  safe — it  is 
always  in  coin,  never  in  paper,  which  is  not  much 
trusted  in  these  parts — either  bury  it  or  have  it 
wrought  into  trinkets,  worn  by  the  women  and 
children.  Quite  little  ones  of  five  or  six,  and  per- 
fectly naked,  have  round  their  neck  sometimes  three 
or  four  strings  of  gold  pieces,  or  pierced  silver  rods 
as  thick  as  a finger  — and  then  one  evening  the 
child  does  not  come  home,  and  in  some  dark  corner 
the  poor  little  body  is  found  bleeding,  the  jewels 
gone. 

A Sikh,  an  old  soldier,  not  long  since  bought 
a few  acres  of  land ; to  pay  for  it  he  produced  800 
280 


BUNNOO 


rupees  in  silver,  and  on  his  wives,  whom  he  brought 
with  him,  were  3000  rupees’  worth  of  jewels. 

A little  study  of  manners,  as  related  to  me  by  my 
neighbour  at  dinner  : — 

A native  judge  is  sitting  cross-legged  on  a little 
mat  in  his  house.  A petitioner  appears  of  the 
lowest  caste,  a Sudra.  The  judge,  quite  motionless, 
watches  the  man  unfasten  his  sandals,  rush  up  to 
him,  and  with  a profound  bow  touch  his  feet  in 
sign  of  submission.  For  a man  of  higher  caste, 
a Vaysiya,  the  ceremonial  is  the  same,  only  instead 
of  running  forward  the  visitor  walks  up  to  the 
judge  and  merely  pretends  to  touch  his  slippers. 
Then  comes  a kshatriya  advancing  very  slowly ; the 
judge  rises  to  meet  him  half-way,  and  they  both 
bow. 

In  the  case  of  a Brahmin  it  is  the  judge  who 
hurries  to  the  threshold,  and  affects  to  touch  the 
priest’s  feet. 

Colonel  C went  out  shooting  wild  duck  on 

a pool  close  to  Bunnoo  with  a native,  whose  horse, 
led  by  a servant,  came  after  them.  But  when  they 
came  to  the  native  gentleman’s  village  he  mounted, 
and  returned  the  civility  of  the  salaaming  people, 
who  till  then  had  avoided  recognizing  him,  regard- 
281 


ENCHANTED  INDIA 


ing  the  fact  that  a kshatriya  had  come  on  foot  as 
sufficient  evidence  that  he  wished  to  pass  incognito. 
Then,  when  they  were  out  of  the  village,  the  native 
gentleman  dismounted  and  walked  on  with  the 
colonel. 

When  a Sikh  is  beaten  and  surrenders  he  takes 
off  his  turban  and  lays  it  at  the  conqueror’s  feet,  to 
convey  that  with  the  turban  he  also  offers  his  head. 

When  a native  comes  to  ask  a favour  he  brings  a 
few  rupees  in  his  hand,  and  the  patron  must  take 
them  and  hold  them  a few  minutes.  A retired 
Sikh  trooper  had  come  to  see  his  son,  now  a soldier 
in  the  regiment,  and  met  the  colonel,  who  asked 
him  whether  he  could  do  anything  for  him,  to 
which  the  other  replied : 

“ Can  you  suppose  I should  have  insulted  you  by 
coming  here  without  asking  you  some  favour  ? ” 

The  want  of  foresight  in  the  people  here  is 
amazing.  A servant  earning  five  rupees  a month 
got  his  son  married,  a child  of  fifteen,  and  for  this 
event  he  bought  fireworks  on  credit,  and  at 
enormous  interest,  which  wrould  cost  him  three 
years’  wages. 

“ How  do  you  expect  to  pay  ? ” asked  his  master, 
an  officer. 


282 


BUNNOO 


“ I shall  pay  as  much  as  I can  myself,  and  by- 
and-by  my  son  will  earn  money,  and  we  shall  pay 
between  us.” 

The  highest  peak  of  the  chain  that  overlooks 
Bunnoo  looks  like  the  ruins  of  a fortress.  A 
legend,  which  must  have  had  its  origin  at  some 
time  when  a man-eating  tiger  lurked  in  the  neigh- 
bourhood, relates  that  it  is  the  lair  of  a ferocious 
ogre  always  on  the  look-out  for  prey.  Nothing  on 
earth  would  induce  any  of  the  natives  to  go  up  the 
mountain;  nay,  for  a long  distance  even  the  plain  is 
not  too  safe. 

All  the  men  carry  fighting  quails  in  little  cages 
made  of  a net  stretched  over  a wooden  tray  and 
cone-shaped  at  top.  Towards  evening,  in  the  shade 
of  the  houses,  at  the  street  corners,  in  the  court- 
yards— everywhere,  there  is  a group  betting  on  the 
chances  of  a fight.  The  birds  taken  out  of  the 
cages  at  first  turn  slowly  round  each  other,  their 
beaks  close  together.  Then  a spring,  a flutter  of 
wings  and  flying  feathers ; the  quails  strike  and 
peck,  aiming  at  the  head,  and  then  suddenly  they 
seem  quite  indifferent  and  turn  round  and  round 
again,  picking  up  grain  from  the  ground.  When  a 
283 


ENCHANTED  INDIA 


bird  is  killed  at  the  end  of  a battle,  its  eyes  blinded 
and  its  breast  torn  open,  it  is  considered  a fine,  a 
noble  spectacle,  and  amateurs  will  talk  of  it  for  a 
long  time.  As  a rule,  after  a few  rounds  one  of  the 
birds  tries  to  get  away.  Then  its  owner  pricks  its 
neck  with  a knife,  and  the  gasping  creature  dies 
slowly  in  the  dust,  the  blood  oozing  drop  by  drop. 

A very  good  quail  that  is  often  the  victor,  is  worth 
eight  or  ten  rupees.  At  a funeral  a day  or  two 
since  one  of  the  bearers  had  his  quail  in  a cage 
hanging  from  his  girdle — a champion  bird  he  would 
not  part  from. 

A man  in  the  fort  always  struck  out  the  hours  on 
a gong,  very  slowly,  in  the  heat  of  the  day.  Twelve 
at  noon  was  interminable — one,  two,  three  were  so 
feeble  as  to  be  scarcely  audible.  And  then  when  it 
was  cooler  and  the  tom-toms  could  be  heard  in  the 
distance,  the  strokes  had  a queer  dislocated  rhythm, 
and  sometimes  even  a stroke  too  many,  smothered 
in  a hurried  roll. 

The  sweepers,  the  saises,  the  bearers,  the  whole 
tribe  of  noisy,  idle  servants  — men,  women,  and 
children — all  sleep  out  of  doors  in  the  hotter 
weather.  And  all  day  long  the  camp-bed,  the  two 
mats,  and  half  a dozen  pots,  which  constitute  the 

284 


BUNNOO 


whole  furniture  of  a family,  move  round  the  house 
with  the  shade,  only  settling  down  after  dark. 

The  moon  at  night  shed  an  intense  light,  warm 
and  golden.  There  was  scarcely  any  shadow,  and 
in  the  quivering  atmosphere  the  flowers  poured  out 
their  perfume  on  the  cooler  air.  Frogs  croaked  a 
hasso  continuo  to  cries  of  night  birds,  and  a sort  of 
roar,  very  loud  but  very  distant,  almost  drowned 
the  concert  in  the  fort  close  by. 

White  clouds  grew  opalescent  against  the  deep, 
infinite,  blue-velvet  sky,  and  their  edges  next  the 
moon  were  fringed  with  silver.  The  stars,  of  a 
luminous  pale  green  like  aqua  marine,  seemed  dead 
and  had  no  twinkle. 

Then,  another  day,  the  air  was  leaden,  too  heavy 
to  breathe.  The  mountains  of  the  gem-like  hues 
had  lost  their  glory ; they  were  of  one  flat  tone  of 
dusky  grey,  and  further  away  were  lost  to  view, 
invisible  in  the  dead  monotony  of  the  colourless 
sky.  The  silence  was  oppressive ; there  was  not  a 
bird  in  the  air,  and  a strange  uneasiness  scared  the 
beasts,  all  seeking  a shady  refuge. 

Music  in  the  evening,  in  the  gardens  which 
surround  the  library,  the  chapel,  and  the  tennis 
285 


ENCHANTED  INDIA 


courts.  The  ladies’  dresses  and  the  uniforms  were 
lustrous  in  the  moonlight.  First  we  had  the 
regimental  band,  and  then  songs  to  a banjo  accom- 
paniment; and  all  about  us  in  the  tall  trees,  the 
minahs  and  parrots  shrieking  as  if  it  were  broad 
daylight,  finished  the  concert  by  themselves.  A 
huge  creeper,  swaying  between  two  branches,  hung 
like  a curtain  of  yellow  flowers  embroidered,  as  it 
seemed,  on  the  airy  tangle  of  leaves. 

Gauze  and  muslin  dresses  moved  gracefully  about 
against  the  background  of  bamboos  and  roses. 
Light  footsteps  scarcely  bent  the  grass ; the  ripple 
of  talk,  with  its  sprinkling  of  Indian  words,  was 
sweet  and  musical.  Fireflies  whirled  above  the 
plants  making  little  tendrils  of  light;  there  was 
dreaminess  in  the  air — an  anticipation  of  fairyland 
to  which  the  music  seemed  the  prelude. 

And  to  and  fro  on  the  ramparts,  the  sentry,  in  an 
uniform  of  the  same  hue  as  the  sun-baked  bricks, 
paced  his  beat,  invisible  but  for  a needle  of  light  on 
his  fixed  bayonet;  till  when  crossing  a patch  of 
light  he  was  seen  like  an  apparition,  lost  again  in 
the  shadow  of  the  wall. 


286 


KOHAT 


KOHAT 

A station  on  the  road — the  delightful  days  at 
Bunnoo  left  far  behind. 

The  night  was  spent  in  travelling:  an  oppressive 
night  of  crushing  heat,  with  leaden  clouds  on  the 
very  top  of  us ; and  next  day,  in  the  blazing  sun- 
light, nothing  seemed  to  have  any  colour — everything 
was  white  and  hot  against  a blue-black  sky  that 
seemed  low  enough  to  rest  on  the  earth.  Way- 
farers slept  under  every  tree,  and  in  the  villages 
every  place  was  shut,  everything  seemed  dead.  It 
was  only  where  we  changed  horses  that  we  saw 
anyone — people  who  disappeared  again  immediately 
under  shelter  from  the  sun. 

Very  early  in  the  morning  we  met  a many- 
coloured  caravan  of  men,  women,  and  children 
riding  astride  on  asses,  amid  baskets  and  bundles. 
They  were  on  their  way  to  a wedding:  they  had 
stopped  to  rest  for  the  last  time;  and  alone,  far 
from  the  merry,  noisy  group,  a “ bad  woman  ” sat 
down  on  a stone.  She  was  on  the  way  to  the 
same  festival,  and  was  allowed  to  travel  with  the 
287 


ENCHANTED  INDIA 


caravan  for  succour  in  case  of  need ; but  she 
was  not  permitted  to  join  the  party. 

Towards  evening  the  sky  turned  to  a dull,  dark 
green,  and  in  the  sudden  gloom  down  came  the 
rain  in  floods,  tremendous,  solid,  for  about  five 
minutes ; then  as  suddenly  it  was  as  hot  as  ever 
again,  dry  and  overpowering. 

Seen  through  the  blue  glass  under  the  low,  broad 
carapace  that  covered  the  carriage,  the  landscape 
circled  past,  the  colour  hardly  subdued  to  that  of 
Europe ; even  in  the  dusk,  with  the  windows  open, 
everything  was  still  intolerably,  crudely  white, 
with  reflections  of  fiery  gold.  Everything  vibrated 
in  the  heat,  and  at  the  stations  the  walls  after 
baking  all  day  scorched  you  when  you  went  near. 

About  Lahore,  all  among  the  ruined  temples,  the 
crumbling  heaps  of  light  red  bricks  sparkling  with 
mica,  there  were  fields  of  roses  in  blossom  and  of 
ripe  corn.  Naked  coolies  were  labouring  in  the 
fields,  gathering  the  ears  one  by  one  into  quite 
small  bunches ; they  looked  like  children  playing 
at  harvesting. 


288 


DEHRA  DOOR 


DEHRA  DOON 

Amid  the  cool  rush  of  a myriad  streams  is  a 
garden,  the  loveliest  in  the  world ; the  broad  paths 
are  shaded  by  cedars,  banyans,  palms,  and  crotons 
with  purple  and  orange  leaves.  Under  the  garlands 
of  gorgeous  flowered  climbers  are  hedges  of  roses 
of  every  shade,  and  shrubs  starred  with  lavender 
and  blue.  In  the  ditches,  above  the  water-plants 
strewn  with  petals  like  hoar-frost,  grows  a carpet 
of  pale  lilac  cineraria. 

The  horizon  is  the  Himalaya  range ; the  slopes 
are  covered  with  the  ribbed  velvet  of  the  tea 
plantations,  and  on  one  hill  stand  the  scattered 
bungalows  of  Mussoree,  looking  no  bigger  than 
pebbles. 

My  friend  Captain  McT , with  whom  I stayed, 

had  a house  with  a peaked,  reed -thatched  roof. 
Round  the  verandah  where  we  slept  at  night  hung 
festoons  of  jasmine  and  bougainvillea.  Bamboos, 
phoenix,  and  curtains  of  creepers  at  the  end  of  the 
lawn  made  a wall  of  verdure,  fresh  and  cool ; and 
through  this  were  wafted  the  perfumes  shed  on 
the  air — the  scent  of  roses  and  verbena,  of  violet 

289 


u 


ENCHANTED  INDIA 


or  of  rosemary,  according  to  the  side  whence  the 
wind  blew,  mingling  with  that  of  the  amaryllis 
and  honeysuckle  in  bloom  close  at  hand,  And  in 
this  quiet  garden,  far  from  the  bazaar  where  the 
darboukhas  were  twanging,  birds  sang  all  night, 
and  the  fireflies  danced  in  mazes  from  flower  to 
flower. 

Captain  McT ’s  orderly  appeared  as  soon  as 

we  stirred  in  the  morning,  shouldering  arms— the 
“arm”  an  umbrella  which  the  authorities  allow  as 
a privilege  off  duty  to  the  Ghoorkhas,  men  from 
the  high  plateaux,  who  are  very  sensitive  to  sun- 
stroke, and  who  wear  only  a cap  without  a pugaree. 
The  umbrella  solemnly  resting  against  his  right 
shoulder,  this  worthy  stood  at  attention,  serious 
and  motionless,  and  very  upright — a quaint  figure, 
his  age  impossible  to  guess,  with  his  Mongolian 
face,  his  little  slits  of  eyes,  and  his  figure,  in  spite 
of  his  military  squareness,  rather  too  pliant  in  the 
yellow  khaki  uniform. 

We  visited  a temple  where  the  natives  treasure 
the  couch  of  the  Guru  Kam-Eoy,  a very  holy  and 
much  venerated  fakir. 

Every  year  pilgrims  set  up  the  tallest  tree  from 
the  neighbouring  jungle  in  front  of  the  sanctuary, 
and  twist  round  it  an  enormous  red  flag.  The 
290 


DEHRA  DOON 


mast  now  standing  was  at  least  a hundred  feet 
high,  and  held  in  place  by  guys  attached  to  banyan 
trees  and  houses  standing  near.  Close  to  the 
ground  ties  of  coloured  worsted,  the  offerings  of 
the  faithful,  held  the  crimson  hanging  to  the  pole. 

The  front  of  the  temple  is  covered  with  paintings. 
Decorations  in  the  Persian  style  divide  the  panels, 
on  which  are  depicted  the  principal  scenes  from 
the  sacred  books  of  the  Brahmins.  There  are  two 
perfect  things  to  be  seen  here:  two  nude  female 
figures  standing,  one  white,  the  other  brown,  ex- 
quisitely refined  in  colouring,  admirably  drawn  in 
a style  reminding  me  of  early  Italian  art ; and  then, 
just  beyond  these,  tasteless  imitations  of  chromos — 
goddesses  with  eyes  too  large  and  a simper  like 
the  advertisements  of  tooth-paste,  and  some  horrible 
caricatures  of  English  ladies  in  the  fashion  of  ten 
years  ago  holding  parasols  like  a nimbus. 

And  certainly  the  most  comical  of  all  is  the 
representation  of  a baboo  donor,  to  whom  two 
servants,  prostrate  before  him,  are  offering  a glass 
of  water. 

To  the  right  of  the  forecourt  is  the  high  priest’s 
room ; lustres,  glass  shades,  gilt  chairs,  coloured 
photographs,  incongruously  surrounding  an  antique 
silk  carpet,  soiled  and  stained. 

291 


ENCHANTED  INDIA 


At  the  end  of  the  court,  over  which  enormous 
bread-fruit  trees  cast  a cool  shade,  above  some 
steps  and  a marble  terrace  where  some  musicians 
were  performing,  stands  the  holy  spot  which  we 
dared  not  go  near.  In  the  dim  light  we  could  see 
a square  object,  red  embroidered  in  gold — the  couch 
of  Ram-Roy — and  hanging  to  the  wall  a silver 
curtain.  All  this,  though  perhaps  it  is  but  tinsel, 
looked  at  a distance  and  in  the  shadow  like  brocade 
and  magnificent  jewels.  Round  the  main  building 
there  are  four  kiosks  dedicated  to  the  Guru’s  four 
wives. 

The  guardian  fakirs  who  watch  the  sacred  flag  sat 
under  a tree  in  front  of  the  temple.  One  of  these, 
quite  young,  was  beautiful  beyond  words.  He  had 
taken  a vow  always  to  stand.  Leaning  on  a long 
pole  he  rocked  himself  without  ceasing ; for  an 
instant  he  allowed  his  rapt  eyes  to  rest  on  the 
bystanders,  and  then  looked  up  again  at  the  plume 
of  white  horse-hair  that  crowns  the  flagstaff.  His 
legs  were  rather  wide  apart  and  evidently  stiff ; he 
walked  without  bending  his  knees,  and  then  as  soon 
as  he  stood  still  he  rested  his  chin  on  his  long  cane, 
and  swayed  his  body  as  before. 

A tea  plantation — a garden  of  large  shrubs  pruned 
292 


DEHRA  DOON 


in  such  a way  as  to  secure  the  greatest  possible 
growth  of  young  shoots,  and  above  the  delicate  tea 
plants  a shady  hedge  of  fan  palms  and  taller  trees. 
The  leaves  are  gathered  by  day,  spread  in  the 
evening  on  hurdles  and  left  for  the  night  in  open 
sheds.  On  the  morrow  they  are  first  thrown  into  a 
sort  of  bottomless  square  funnel  which  revolves  on  a 
board ; rolled  and  broken  in  this  machine  they  are 
ready  for  drying.  The  tea  passes  through  twenty 
grades  of  increasing  temperature,  and  in  drying  it 
gives  out  the  most  delightful  aroma — a mixture  of 
sweetbriar,  seaweed,  and  violets,  with  a scent  of  tea 
too.  The  leaves  are  finally  sifted,  which  sorts  them 
in  four  sizes  into  boxes  containing  the  different 
qualities. 

Coolies  in  white  turbans  were  busy  round  the 
machines.  They  are  very  skilful,  but  work  with 
determined  slowness  as  a mute  rebellion  against 
the  humiliating  coercion  of  obeying  a thing  of 
wood  and  iron,  and  above  all  of  obeying  it  without 
stopping,  for  the  ideal  of  every  Hindoo  is  to  do 
nothing.  And  this  rose  to  positive  martyrdom 
when,  in  the  absence  of  our  own  servants,  who 
were  nowhere  to  be  found,  one  of  these  craftsmen, 
a Brahmin,  strictly  forbidden  by  his  religion  ever 
to  touch  the  food  of  the  disbelievers,  or  even  the 
293 


ENCHANTED  INDIA 


vessels  they  use,  was  obliged  to  make  tea  for  us. 
Looking  utterly  miserable,  the  poor  fellow  weighed 
out  the  leaves,  put  them  into  little  antique  earthen- 
ware pots,  and  poured  on  the  boiling  water.  A 
sand-glass  marked  how  long  the  infusion  was  to 
stand.  He  even  brought  us  some  pretty  little 
crackle  basins  that  looked  as  if  they  had  come  out 
of  some  old-world  convent  pharmacy;  but  the  poor 
man  could  not  bring  himself  to  pour  the  tea  out 
— he  fled. 

Close  to  a field  that  had  just  been  reaped  four 
oxen  yoked  abreast  were  threshing  out  the  grain, 
tramping  round  and  round  on  a large  sheet  spread 
on  the  ground.  The  driver  chanted  a shrill,  slow 
tune;  further  away  women  in  red  were  gleaning, 
and  a patriarch  contemplated  his  estate,  enthroned 
on  a cart  in  a halo  of  sunset  gold. 

The  Ghoorkhas,  small  men  and  very  active, 
young  too,  with  Chinese  features,  were  practising 
gymnastics.  And  recruits  were  being  drilled,  two 
of  them  barefoot,  though  wearing  their  gaiters. 

Firmly  erect  in  military  attitudes,  they  moved 
like  one  man.  All  without  exception  turn  out 
capital  soldiers. 


294 


DEHRA  DOON 


The  drill  sergeant  shouts  the  word  of  command 
in  wonderful  English — lept,  meaning  left. 

This  native  regiment,  after  many  victories,  was 
presented  by  the  Empress  Queen  with  a sort  of 
mace.  A little  shrine  contains  two  crossed  knives, 
and  is  surmounted  by  three  Ghoorkhas  bearing  a 
royal  crown  in  silver.  This  object  is  preserved  in 
a case  in  the  ammunition  store.  An  officer  is 
appointed  to  guard  it,  and  the  soldier  who  took  it 
out  to  show  me  touched  it  really  as  if  it  had  been 
the  Host.  And  it  is  a fact  that  on  high  festivals 
the  soldiers  come  to  sacrifice  goats  before  the  house 
where  this  fetish  is  treasured. 

After  dinner,  with  the  dessert,  the  head  orderly  of 
the  mess  marched  in  with  the  decanters.  He  set 
them  on  the  table,  and  then  stood  immovable  at  his 
post  behind  the  colonel’s  chair,  shouldering  his  gun 
till  everybody  had  done,  when  he  carried  off  the 
bottles  with  the  same  air  of  being  on  parade. 

Outside,  under  a thatched  screen,  sits  the  punkah 
coolie,  his  legs  crossed,  the  string  in  his  hand ; and 
as  soon  as  everyone  goes  into  the  room  he  wakes  up, 
rocks  his  body  to  and  fro,  his  arm  out  in  a fixed 
position,  swaying  all  of  a piece  with  a mechanical 
see-saw,  utterly  stupid.  He  will  go  to  sleep  lulled 
by  his  own  rocking,  and  never  wake  unless  the  cord 
breaks,  or  somebody  stops  him. 

295 


ENCHANTED  INDIA 


HARDWAR 

At  the  bottom  of  a wide  flight  of  steps  flows  the 
Ganges,  translucent,  deeply  green,  spangled  with 
gold.  The  bathers,  holding  the  little  brass  pots 
that  they  use  for  their  ablutions,  are  performing 
the  rites,  surrounded  by  large  yellow  fishes  spotted 
with  green.  Pink  and  white  stuffs  are  spread  to 
dry  on  the  steps,  flowers  are  scattered  on  the  stream, 
long  wreaths  are  floating  down  the  river,  curling 
and  uncurling  at  the  caprice  of  the  current. 

After  bathing,  during  their  long  prayers  to  the 
gods  of  the  river,  almost  as  sacred  here  as  it  is  at 
Benares,  the  pilgrims  threw  grain  to  the  half-tame 
fish.  Steering  vigorously  with  their  tails,  the 
creatures  turned  and  rolled,  making  eddies  of  light 
in  the  water,  and  hurrying  up  to  the  falling  grain 
occasionally  upset  the  equilibrium  of  some  old 
woman  still  taking  her  bath.  At  the  top  of  the 
bank,  in  the  blazing  sunshine,  two  fakirs,  squatting 
in  the  dusty  road,  remained  unmoved  by  all  this 
turmoil,  seeing  nothing,  hearing  nothing,  absorbed 
in  a fixed  thought  which  concentrated  their  gaze 

296 


HARDWAR 


on  an  invisible  point.  The  fall  of  an  old  woman 
into  the  Ganges,  with  all  the  shouting  that  such  an 
incident  entails  in  India,  left  them  quite  indifferent; 
they  did  not  stir,  did  not  even  glance  at  the  river 
as  the  woman  was  taken  out  unconscious. 

There  are  temples  all  along  the  shore,  poor  little 
structures  for  the  most  part.  On  the  walls  gaudy 
borders  of  crude  colour  serve  to  frame  chromo- 
lithographs representing  the  principal  events  of  the 
Yedas.  There  are  but  one  or  two  sanctuaries  built 
of  marble,  and  very  rarely  have  the  idols  any 
precious  jewels. 

Beyond  the  temples  is  the  merchants’  quarter : a 
few  very  modest  shops,  the  goods  covered  with  dust ; 
and  in  the  middle  of  this  bazaar,  a cord  stretched 
across  cut  off  a part  of  the  town  where  cholera  was 
raging. 

In  the  plain,  beyond  shady  avenues  of  tamarind 
and  terminalia  trees,  Hardwar  begins  again,  a 
second  town  of  large  buildings,  buried  in  the 
greenery  of  banyans  and  bamboos.  Here  again 
was  the  ghost  of  a bazaar,  where  all  seemed  dead 
under  the  bleaching  sun — a bazaar  bereft  of  sellers, 
no  one  in  the  booths,  and  no  buyers  in  the  deserted 
streets. 

At  every  street-corner  there  were  blocks  of  salt, 
297 


ENCHANTED  INDIA 


which  the  cows  and  goats  licked  as  they  went 
past. 

On  our  way  back  through  the  temple-quarter  a 
sudden  wild  excitement  possessed  the  worshippers 
and  priests ; out  of  a side  street  rushed  a large 
troop  of  monkeys,  grey,  with  black  faces.  They 
galloped  past  in  a close  pack  and  fled  to  the  trees, 
shrieking  shrilly.  One,  however,  lagged  behind, 
bent  on  stealing  some  rice  that  had  been  brought 
as  an  offering  to  a plaster  image  of  Vishnu.  A 
Brahmin  stood  watching  the  monkey,  and  tried  to 
scare  it  away  with  a display  of  threatening  arms, 
but  he  dared  not  hit  the  beast  sacred  to  Hanuman, 
the  god  of  the  green  face.  The  creature,  never 
stirring  from  the  spot,  yelled  aloud,  bringing  the 
rest  of  the  pack  back  on  to  the  roof  of  the  neigh- 
bouring pagodas.  Then  the  ringleader,  with  a 
subdued,  sleepy,  innocent  gait,  stole  gently  up  to 
the  tray  of  offerings.  He  was  on  the  point  of 
reaching  it  when  the  priest  raised  his  arm.  This 
was  a signal  for  the  whole  tribe  to  scream  and 
dance  with  terror,  but  without  retreating.  The 
performance  seemed  likely  to  last ; the  bazaar  and 
the  temples  were  in  a hubbub  of  excitement;  the 
doors  of  the  shops  and  the  sanctuaries  were  hastily 
shut,  till,  at  the  mere  sight  of  a man  who  came  out 

298 


DELHI 


with  a long  bamboo  in  his  hand,  the  whole  pack 
made  off  and  appeared  no  more,  and  Hardwar 
relapsed  into  its  somnolent  sanctity. 


DELHI 

In  the  train  to  Delhi  the  windows  were  screened 
with  cuscus  mats  constantly  sprinkled  with  water, 
and  so  long  as  the  train  was  in  motion  the  air  came 
in  cool,  fragrant,  and  breathable.  But  whenever  we 
stopped  in  the  desert  which  this  country  becomes 
just  before  the  monsoon,  melted  lead  seemed  to 
scorch  up  the  atmosphere  and  shut  the  train  in 
between  walls  of  fire. 

Delhi  appeared  in  the  blinding  light  like  an  un- 
substantial vision,  white  against  a bleached  sky ; 
and  as  we  got  nearer  the  city  half  vanished  like  a 
mirage,  blotted  out  and  dim  through  a shifting 
cloud  of  dust. 

Every  house  in  the  town  was  shuttered,  not  a 
soul  was  to  be  seen  in  the  baked  streets ; only 
here  and  there  in  a shady  corner  a beggar  might  be 
seen  asleep.  A chigram  only  was  slowly  moving 
along  at  the  slow  pace  of  two  draught  oxen,  carrying 
the  women  of  a zenana,  and  their  constant  chatter 
299 


ENCHANTED  INDIA 


within  the  curtains  of  the  clumsy  vehicle  sounded 
formidably  loud  and  discordant  in  the  silence,  the 
death-like  exhaustion  of  noon.  A foxy  smell  came 
up  from  everything  that  the  sun  was  baking,  and 
towards  the  end  of  the  day  it  had  become  intoler- 
able, corpse -like.  It  died  away,  however,  after 
sunset. 

Then,  in  the  magic  of  the  evening,  the  air  was 
saturated  with  fragrance ; invisible  gardenias, 
amaryllis,  and  lemon -flowers  perfumed  the  cool 
night.  On  every  side  we  could  hear  the  quavering 
guzla,  the  sound  of  tom-toms  and  tambourines. 
The  streets  were  brightly  lighted  up  and  crowded. 

A dancing-girl  went  by,  wrapped  in  white  muslin 
as  thin  as  air,  hardly  veiling  the  exquisite  grace  of 
her  shape.  Close  to  us,  in  front  of  two  musicians 
playing  on  the  vina  and  the  tom-tom,  she  began  to 
dance,  jingling  the  rattles  and  bells  on  her  anklets : 
a mysterious  dance  with  slow  movements  and  long 
bows  alternating  with  sudden  leaps,  her  hands 
crossed  on  her  heart,  in  a lightning  flash  of  silver 
necklets  and  bangles.  Every  now  and  then  a 
shadow  passed  between  the  nautch-girl  and  the 
lights  that  fell  on  her  while  she  was  dancing,  and 
then  she  could  scarcely  be  seen  to  touch  the 
ground,  she  seemed  to  float  in  her  fluttering 

300 


DELHI 


drapery ; and  presently,  before  the  musicians  had 
ceased  playing,  she  vanished  in  the  gloom  of  a side 
alley.  She  had  asked  for  nothing,  had  danced 
simply  for  the  pleasure  of  displaying  her  grace. 

On  our  way  back  to  the  hotel,  in  a park  through 
which  we  had  to  pass,  we  suddenly  heard  overhead 
a shrill  outcry  proceeding  from  a banyan  tree  to 
which  a number  of  vampires  had  hung  themselves 
up.  Clinging  together  side  by  side,  like  black  rags, 
and  hardly  visible  in  the  thick  foliage,  the  creatures 
formed  a sort  of  living  bunch,  creeping,  swaying, 
and  all  uttering  the  same  harsh,  monotonous,  in- 
cessant cry. 

As  we  passed  the  sacred  tanks,  where  a smell  of 
decay  filled  the  air  that  still  rang  with  the  cries  of 
the  bats,  our  horses  suddenly  shied  and  refused  to 
go  forward,  terror-stricken  by  some  invisible  danger 
suggested  to  them  by  that  reiterated  shriek  or  the 
corpse-like  smell.  A very  long  minute  passed  as 
we  sat  in  the  carriage,  a minute  of  dread  that  left 
us  quite  excited  by  this  mysterious  peril  of  which 
we  had  somehow  felt  the  awe.  Nor  was  it  till  we 
had  left  the  great  trees  by  the  tanks  behind  us  that 
the  impression  wore  off  under  the  comforting  light 
of  the  stars. 

With  day  came  the  grip  of  fire,  the  overwhelming 
301 


ENCHANTED  INDIA 


mastery  of  the  heat.  The  sunshine  pierced  through 
every  crack  in  the  shutters  and  blinds,  intolerably 
vivid.  In  feverish  exhaustion,  helpless  to  with- 
stand the  glow  and  light,  we  could  but  lie  under 
the  waving  punkah  and  await  the  blessed  return 
of  night. 


BOMBAY 

A tea-party  in  the  afternoon  at  the  yacht  club. 
The  ladies  in  smart  dresses,  the  talk  all  of  fashion- 
able gossip — how  far  away  from  all  I had  been 
seeing.  An  European  atmosphere,  where  a touch 
of  local  colour  was  only  suggested  by  the  native 
servants.  The  plague,  the  ruling  terror  when  I was 
last  in  Bombay,  was  forgotten ; the  only  subject 
now  was  the  Jubilee,  and  the  latest  news  from 
England  arrived  by  that  day’s  mail. 

In  the  evening,  on  my  way  to  dine  with  a friend 
by  Malabar  Hill,  I could  hardly  recognize  some 
parts  of  the  town : houses,  a camp  of  little  huts 
and  tents,  a whole  district  had  been  swept  away. 
A wide  open  space  covered  with  rubbish  heaps  was 
to  be  seen  where  the  sepoys’  barracks  had  been,  and 
where  from  the  first  the  men  had  died  of  the  plague 
by  hundreds.  In  one  garden,  a bungalow  where  a 

302 


BOMBAY 


man  had  just  died  was  being  burnt  down  — still 
burning.  A party  of  police  were  encouraging  the 
fire,  and  a cordon  of  native  soldiers  kept  everybody 
else  off. 

A heavy,  rusty-red  cloud  hung  over  the  field  of 
Hindoo  funeral  fires.  Tambourines  and  bells  could 
be  heard  in  the  distance,  and  as  we  went  nearer 
the  noise  grew  louder  in  the  foul  air,  stifling  and 
stagnant;  till  when  we  got  close  to  the  place  the 
noise  and  singing  were  frantic  and  the  smell  of 
burning  was  acrid,  sickening. 

But  at  Byculla,  in  Grant  Boad,  the  street  of 
gambling-houses,  there  was  a glare  of  lights ; gaudy 
lanterns  were  displayed  at  the  windows  where 
spangles  and  tinsel  trinkets  glittered.  And  then, 
between  two  brightly  illuminated  houses  where 
every  window  was  wide  open,  there  was  the  dark 
gap  of  a closed  house,  in  front  of  it  a pan  of 
sulphur  burning.  The  green  and  purple  flame 
flickered  grimly  on  the  faces  of  the  passers-by, 
making  their  dhotis  look  like  shrouds  wrapping 
spectres. 

In  the  side  streets  the  natives  lay  sleeping  on 
the  bare  earth  in  the  coolness  of  night.  On  every 
house  were  the  spots  of  red  paint  that  told  how 
many  of  the  inhabitants  had  died  of  the  plague ; 

303 


ENCHANTED  INDIA 


and  the  smaller  the  house  the  closer  were  the  dabs 
of  paint,  almost  framing  the  door  with  a chain  of 
red  spots. 

A funeral  came  pushing  past  me  in  the  silence  of 
this  sleeping  district:  the  body,  wrapped  in  red, 
hung  from  a bamboo  that  rested  on  the  bearers’ 
shoulders.  No  one  followed  him,  and  the  group 
disappeared  at  once  in  the  deep  gloom  of  the  narrow 
alley. 

I turned  back  into  Grant  Boad,  where  bands  of 
tom-toms  and  harmoniums  were  hard  at  it,  where 
the  gamblers  were  stifling  each  other  round  the 
roulette-boards  in  a frenzy  of  amusement  and  high 
spirits,  eager  for  enjoyment  before  hovering  death 
should  swoop  down  on  them. 

In  a quiet,  darkened  corner  a girl  was  lying  on  a 
bier,  a girl  of  the  Brahmin  caste,  all  in  white,  veiled 
by  a transparent  saree.  By  her  side  an  old  man,  a 
bearded  patriarch,  seemed  to  wait  for  someone. 
Then  another  Brahmin  came  out  from  a little 
house,  carrying  the  fire  wherewith  to  light  the 
funeral  pile  in  a little  pot  hanging  from  his  girdle. 
The  two  old  men  took  up  their  burthen — so  light 
that  even  to  them,  tottering  already  towards  their 
end,  it  seemed  to  be  no  weight.  They  made  their 
way  cautiously,  so  as  not  to  tread  on  the  sleep- 
304 


AT  SEA 


ing  figures  strewn  about  the  street,  going  very 
slowly  in  devious  zigzags.  A dog  woke  and  howled 
at  them;  and  then,  as  silence  fell,  I could  hear  again 
the  dying  sounds  of  harmoniums  and  tom-toms,  and 
the  clatter  of  the  games. 


AT  SEA 

Bombay,  towering  above  the  sea  in  a golden  glory 
— the  tall  towers  and  minarets  standing  out  in  sharp 
outline  against  the  sky,  splendid  in  colour  and  glow. 
Far  away  Malabar  Hill  and  a white  speck — the 
Towers  of  Silence ; Elephanta,  like  a transparent 
gem,  reflected  in  the  aqua-marine-coloured  water. 

A rosy  light  flooded  the  whole  scene  with  fiery 
radiance,  and  then  suddenly,  with  no  twilight,  dark- 
ness blotted  out  the  shape  of  things,  drowning  all  in 
purple  haze ; and  there,  where  India  had  vanished, 
a white  mist  rose  from  the  ocean  that  mirrored  the 
stars. 


THE  END. 


x 


305 


PLYMOUTH  : 

WILLIAM  BRENDON  AND  SON, 


PRINTERS. 


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